Short Stories With Happy Endings
by Boyue
Summary: A collection of short stories, each inspired by a quote on love. Multiple pairings.
1. Spain x Romano

_APH and its characters © Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: A collection of short stories, each inspired by a quote on love._

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**_"Love is more than three words mumbled before bedtime. Love is sustained by action, a pattern of devotion in the things we do for each other every day." - Nicholas Sparks_**

**Pairing: Spain x Romano**

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Lovino was spending another day gazing out the open window. He had lost track of how many days it had been since Antonio had left to fight in the Americas. Perhaps, it had only been a few days. Perhaps, it had been years – decades even. He only knew that his heart was suffering from a horrible pang at the cheerful Spaniard's absence. What wouldn't the south Italian give to see that stupid grin on Antonio's face right now? Or to hear that obnoxious chuckle and to feel those rough hands massaging his scalp?

Damn that Spanish bastard to hell.

Lovino shifted his elbow and blinked at the setting sun. He watched it drench the world in fuchsia and salmon. In the blur of the horizon, he saw a group of silhouettes approaching. He squinted against the still-bright sun. He saw flags and banners; the Spanish coat of arms waved dully in the lack of wind. The south Italian huffed, pushing away from the window. It was about damn time the Spanish army returned home.

Lovino took a quick glance of the house; it was a mess as usual, but Antonio would expect that. He – somewhat – hurried out the door. From the front of the house, he could see a better and closer view of the returning army. Lovino might still be a child at the time, but he knew enough to recognize defeat when he saw it. The number of soldiers coming home was pitiful; Lovino was certain they had left with much more than that. He smirked and rolled his eyes, his arms naturally crossed over his chest. He couldn't wait to laugh at Antonio's stupid face and tell him what a loser he was.

But when the Spanish army reached the house, Lovino couldn't find one reason to ridicule Antonio. The dirty, blood-soaked and pus-filled cloths, so clumsily wrapped all over Antonio's body, rocked his chest. Battle wounds – both old and fresh – decorated the Spaniard like war medals. One of Antonio's wrists, Lovino knew for sure, was broken. His fists tightened; stubby fingernails scraped his skin.

Mio Dio, what the hell happened, Antonio?

Still, Antonio perked up when he saw the little Italian. But even the brilliant smile couldn't hide the fatigue and anguish in his tanned face.

"Romano," the Spaniard chirped but his voice was so drained of energy, "I'm home~! Have you been good while I was gone?"

Lovino couldn't logically explain what happened to him next. Tears burst out from him and his legs ran without his permission. He was thrown into Antonio's arms. He could physically feel how weak Antonio was; the older man barely caught him and actually stumbled a few steps back. He heard the sharp wheeze that came out of Antonio's mouth and knew damn well that his sudden hug had caused the Spaniard quite an amount of pain. He didn't care though; he needed the comfort of being close to Antonio. He dug his fingers into the unkempt brown hair and pulled their bodies close. His cheek rubbed the ruffled fabric of the Spanish uniform. His chin tilted downward, eyes burying into Antonio's shoulder.

"What's wrong, Romano?" Antonio asked, "Are you hungry?"

Lovino only kept his head down and sobbed quietly, wetting Antonio's clothes with saline tears.

"Goddamn it, Antonio," the south Italian mumbled, "Goddamn it…"

"Do you want pasta?" Antonio raked his fingers– and how horribly they were shaking – through Lovino's hair. He chuckled, "No hay problema~ I'll make some now."

Lovino's arms locked around Antonio's neck. He kept his head down as Antonio weakly walked into the house. He flinched whenever Antonio bumped into the walls during the trip to the kitchen. The quiet hisses of pain made Lovino's stomach twisted. He shook with rage while Antonio fumbled around in the kitchen and opened the cabinets to take out the pot and a bag of pasta, all the while carrying Lovino in his arms.

"Antonio, you bastard!" the Italian shouted, finally pulling away to stare Antonio in the face, "don't make pasta now!"

"But you're hungry," Antonio said with a blink, "I don't want you to be hungry."

"But _you_ are hurt!"

"Eeee? No te preocupes!" the Spaniard laughed, patting Lovino in the back. "You're more important."

Lovino clenched his teeth. He brought his hand up and slapped Antonio hard across the face. Antonio shrugged his shoulders and hissed at the surprise attack.

"O-ouch! Romano!" Antonio scowled but did nothing else otherwise.

"I hate you, Antonio," Lovino screeched, hot tears once again pumping out of his emerald eyes, "I hate you so much!"

"That's not a nice thing to say," Antonio pouted with a deep frown. "You'd be cuter if you were more honest!"

Lovino ignored the comment. He returned his head to Antonio's shoulder and gripped his back tight. Antonio sighed with a short chuckle; he gave the stand-alone curl a playful tug. Lovino shuddered and kneed Antonio in the stomach – what a pervert! The Spaniard laughed in apology, followed with a cough that made Lovino's heart jumped.

Antonio brushed his face against Lovino's hair and inhaled. Lovino turned his head and did the same. The scent of the Spaniard filled his nostrils – dirt, sweat, and blood. But at least Antonio was here. At least he was alive.

"Te adoro," Antonio whispered into his ear.

Lovino growled and kneeed Antonio again. Antonio apologized once more and went on to boil hot water. Lovino didn't know how Antonio was still standing or even have the energy to make food for him. But damn it was he grateful. Damn it was he lucky.

Damn it was he loved.

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**THE END.**

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_Boyue's Note: Eep! It's my first time writing Spain x Romano. Dear, I hope I did good. o.o;;_


	2. France x Jeanne D'Arc

_APH and its characters © Hidekaz Himaruya_

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**"The rose speaks of love silently, in a language known only to the heart." -- Unknown**_

**Pairing: France x Jeanne D'Arc**

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May 30.

Francis stood on the bridge by the Seine River. He stared down at the moving water, hurrying off to nowhere in particular. He took a deep breath. It was rose season and the roses were blooming as beautifully as they could. For anyone else, the fragrance and the brightness would fill them with happiness and excitement. For Francis, however, the flower of love and its smell only reminded him of horrible things.

He shifted slightly, taking his weight off his foot. His index finger brushed against his lips. His mouth tasted of fine red wine. He closed his eyes and lifted his head upward. The sun made his sight red. He blinked them open quickly when the heat made his eyes burn, as if he was standing in an ocean of fire. Light footsteps sounded behind him. He turned his head a bit to see Arthur stepping up to him with a bouquet of white roses in his arms.

"I gather you'd be here," the Englishman said. He glanced down at the flowers and extended them over to Francis. "These are for her."

Francis pulled a gratuitous smile and leaned away from the railing. He took the bouquet with both hands and studied the roses; top class, as expected from Arthur.

"Merci," he said, "she'll love them."

Arthur gave a nod and said nothing else. Francis untied the ribbon around the stems and tugged it casually into his pocket. Carefully, he removed the roses from their wrapping. He lifted the flowers to his nose and took a sniff. The heavy pollen made his eyes water. He kissed the petals and gazed down at the river. With caution, he dropped the bouquet into the water. The river accepted the roses. Miraculously, the roses didn't float away from each other. As one, they traveled downstream; the petals above the water and the stems under.

Francis could almost see her face, her charming smile as she took the roses into her arms. He could almost feel her presence, but only chuckled to himself when he realized it was more likely Arthur's presence that he was feeling. He turned to the Brit and grinned, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"Hn, it's not a bother," Arthur responded with a shrug.

Francis leaned over the bridge and gazed into the water.

"Tu me manques," he whispered, "Je t'aime."

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**THE END.**

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	3. Sweden x Finland

_APH and its characters © Hidekaz Himaruya_

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**_"Sometimes your nearness takes my breath away; and all the things I want to say can find no voice. Then, in silence, I can only hope my eyes will speak my heart." - Robert Sexton_**

**Pairing: Sweden x Finland**_

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"W-what is it, Berwald?" Tino's voice as well as his body trembled. "Is s-something the matter?"

The somber Swede had a good grip on the Finn's shoulders. He could feel Tino trembling from the core of his body and yet, he couldn't find the will to let go. Even as the poor Finn started whimpering and apologizing, Berwald kept his tight hold on the smaller man.

"I was only kidding about before," Tino whimpered, "I-I don't mind living with you, really!"

Berwald lowered his eyes. Pale violet ones met his for brief seconds before they frightfully darted away, as if Tino was afraid that staring at him could cause brain damage. For Berwald, the worst part about living with Tino was knowing that Tino was scared of him, that the Finn didn't know hurting him was the last thing he would do. He knew Tino saw him as a terrifying beast and himself as the poor victim.

_Don't leave me_, Berwald wanted to say. _I need you with me. I need you in my life. You are my everything._ _I would protect you. I would die for you._

But the only thing that died was his voice. He said nothing; he didn't even make a sound. He only kept his hands on Tino's shuddering shoulders and his eyes gazing into the violet ones that continued to avoiding him.

And Tino kept on trembling, kept on squirming, kept on not knowing how the Swede felt for him.

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**THE END.**

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_Boyue's Note: These just keep getting shorter and shorter, don't they? _


	4. America x England

_APH and its characters © Hidekaz Himaruya_

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**"_Just because someone doesn't love you in the way you want them to, doesn't mean that they don't love you with all they've got." – Anonymous_**

**Pairing: America x England**

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Alfred and Arthur were fighting again.

"I don't understand you," Alfred shouted, his blue eyes burning up with anger, "What do you expect from me?"

"I know now I can expect nothing from you," Arthur rebutted, green eyes flashing with equal amount of rage.

The Brit turned on his heels and stomped out of the house. He hurried down the neighborhood, huffing angrily the whole way until he found an alley to hide in. He pressed his forehead against the wall and punched the concrete. He hissed at the pain and mentally slapped himself for being stupid.

But what was more stupid was that stupid Alfred.

All Arthur wanted was…

Hell, he didn't even know what was it he wanted from Alfred. He could barely remember what they were arguing over. It started with something about dinner and then it turned into something about Alfred being an idiot and Arthur idealizing their relationship and putting an impossible standard on it.

Arthur turned and leaned against the wall. His palms covered his face. He sighed through gritted teeth; the corner of his lips snarled upward.

Maybe he did idealize their relationship. Maybe he did expect a little more from Alfred. But what was so wrong about that? He just wanted to know how deeply Alfred cared for him, that Alfred wouldn't betray him again. He just needed the reassurance that he wouldn't be heartbroken like before. Was that too much to ask for?

Well, apparently so. Or else, he wouldn't be alone in a dirty alley.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his unkempt hair, not knowing what else to do. Footsteps approached and a shadow casted on the ground. Arthur flinched and turned his head to the side. Alfred stepped forward with a stiff body and a firm face. Tight frown, Alfred wasn't going to play around.

"Arthur," Alfred said, "Let me tell you one thing: don't expect me to bring you flowers and chocolate, or to write you love poems, because I won't." He opened his arms and summed up, "This is all you'll get from me. Take it or leave it."

Arthur couldn't decide if he should punch Alfred in the jaw or kick him in the vital regions. He clenched his fists and glared at the somber American. How dare he give an ultimatum. If anyone should be making threats, it should be him.

"Fuck you," he said.

"Fuck you too!" Alfred shouted, flipping both middle fingers to illustrate his point.

But unlike the previous argument of the day, no one walked away from the fight. Arthur panted softly; his chest aching with tension. The tension only increased when Alfred walked over and pushed him into the wall. Arthur gripped Alfred by the elbows and pulled him closer. Their lips clashed violently, continuing their fight. Their tongues took turn invading each other's mouth. Arthur grabbed Alfred's yellow strands and tugged with frustration, while Alfred's hands kept a secure hold on Arthur's hips and jaw. Alfred's glasses scratched Arthur's cheek but neither cared for it. They only took short breaks to refill their lungs before they kept on with the heated battle. Neither was willing to surrender. Neither was willing to admit the fault.

So they went on fighting in the quiet alley, each wishing that the other wouldn't let go. If they let go, everything would be over.

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**THE END.**

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	5. Sealand x Latvia

_APH and its characters © Hidekaz Himaruya_

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**"The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end." - Benjamin Disraeli**_

**Pairing: Sealand x Latvia**

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"I like Raivis a lot," Peter said while kicking his feet casually.

"H-huh? I-I like you a l-lot too," the Latvian responded with a twitchy smile.

"Then, we should be lovers!"

Raivis blinked nervously at Peter's enthusiastic face. The Sealander was beaming with excitement like he had just received a new toy from his adoptive parents.

"L-lov-vers?"

"Papa said that when two people like each other, they become lovers," Peter explained with a proud smile.

Raivis tried his best to smile; he most certainly knew what lovers were and what the word entailed. After all, he was a growing teenager. He nervously glanced at Peter, who was staring back at him with full intensity. He looked away promptly and twitched in response. He liked Peter a lot; he did. But he couldn't help but think that Peter was a little too young to have a lover. Not that Peter wouldn't be a good lover…

He twitched violently and shook his head. He shouldn't be having that kind of thought about a twelve-year-old. But he really did enjoy being with the Sealander; Peter was sweet and funny, and most of all, Raivis could tell that Peter really cared for him.

Lovers, huh… He wouldn't mind that at all.

"S-sure," Raivis finally answered with a blush.

"Waaaaah~! Hurray!" Peter pumped his fists in the air. "I have a lover! Wait till that jerk Arthur hears this!"

Raivis fidgeted with a smile; he was happy but he still twitched unintentionally. Peter scooted over to him and stuck out his pinky. Raivis glanced at the finger. He widened his smile; Peter was just a kid after all. He, too, stuck out his pinky and linked it with Peter's. The younger boy beamed a bright grin and Raivis flashed a similar one.

"This mean we promise to be lovers forever," Peter giggled excitedly, shaking their pinkies eagerly.

"R-right," Raivis said, "f-forever."

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**THE END.**

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	6. Russia x China

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

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"If I know what love is, it is because of you." - Hermann Hesse**_

_**Pairing: Russia x China**_

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**_The air was thick with moisture. It would be a nice day, if it weren't for the heavy clouds in the sky and the grayness that encompassed the earth. Yao eyed his surrounding with little interest. The barrel of the gun pressed against his temple was hard and cold, and even now and then, as Ivan's arm shook, it would nudge against his skull. He knew Ivan must be exhausted if he couldn't even hold a gun properly.

"Look at me," Ivan said barely above a whisper.

Yao drew his eyes to meet the amethyst ones. Sad and sorrowful, they drilled into his soul. Yao stared, unblinking. Ivan's lids dragged heavily downward. But he kept a firm grip on the gun, kept it hard against Yao's head. His thumb rested on the hammer and his fingers stayed close to the trigger. It wouldn't take too much energy to send a bullet through Yao's brain.

"Stay with me," Ivan said in the same tired voice.

"No," Yao answered without hesitation. "There is nothing left of us together. You and I were on different paths to begin with."

"What about our dream?"

"The dream is over," Yao said, "You and I are over."

Ivan nodded his head. He lowered his hand with the gun, and Yao took a quick breath. Ivan scanned the ground. He laughed softly, without any joy in his tone. He looked up at Yao again. Their eyes met once more. A silent plea leaked from Ivan. Yao shook his head, casting his gaze downward. There was nothing left to say.

"It really is over," Ivan mumbled.

Ivan lifted the gun to his own head. The barrel pressed tight next to his temple. Yao gasped, dignified, and clutched his fists. He wanted to say something; but as before, there was nothing left to say. He knew – they both knew – it was the only end awaiting Ivan Braginski.

Ivan cocked the gun. The click echoed in Yao's ears. It made him shudder and dried his eyes up. He pursed his lips close and kept his eyes on Ivan. The least he could do was not to look away.

"If I know what love is," Ivan smiled, "it is because of you."

The gunshot made Yao twitch. Ivan's body hitting the ground shook the earth like a massive quake. Yao swallowed hard. He licked his dry lips, tasted the tears on the corners of them. He gazed downward, watched the winter scarf drank up the blood. The fabric dulled the hue. The blood wasn't red. Nothing left in Moscow was red.

The Soviet Union was dead. All that was left was a tired, vulnerable, and lost Russia.

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**THE END.**

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_Boyue's Note: Historical accuracy? What's that? D8_


	7. Germany x N Italy

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

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__**"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." - Lao Tzu**_

_**Pairing: Germany x N. Italy**_

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Feliciano had never been more frightened. He clutched his white flag tightly with both hands, though his arms were shaking with fatigue and fear. The battlefield was crowded with dead bodies. The stench of blood was unbearable to his nose. What wouldn't he give to be at home, eating a plate of delicious pasta, instead of being here on the frontline?

But the north Italian had come with a purpose – a mission. He had to find Ludwig. Even since Ludwig left to fight Ivan, Feliciano hadn't heard a word from his ally. He worried for the German. Ludwig was strong and muscular and brave and macho, but Feliciano had heard horrid things about the crazy Russian. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to Ludwig.

He gripped the wooden stick and threaded through the field, climbing over the mounts of German and Russian corpses. He only took quick peeks at the bodies, in case, God forbids, one of them was his dear Ludwig.

The climate was harsh. Feliciano shuddered and hugged himself as he crossed another line of bodies on the field. From the look of it, the battle had advanced further up north, which meant Feliciano was heading into Russia's territory. He quivered, whining at the thought of running into Ivan.

And speak of the Devil.

"Ehhhh~ Aren't you north Italy?" the Russian chirped with a childish smile as he appeared behind the frightened Italian.

"Eeeek!" Feliciano yelped, leaping away from the enemy.

Feliciano would have normally jumped into his usual routine of begging for his life. But for Ludwig's sake, he braced himself and lifted the white flag hard. With all his strength, he waved the flag ferociously, hoping that it would intimidate the bigger Russian. Much to his chagrin, Ivan only chuckled sheepishly and waved his gun in a similar fashion.

"Don't mock me! Take that," Feliciano shouted with his eyes close, "take that! And this! And that! HIYYAAAAH!"

"Heehee~ You are fun," Ivan laughed, "But… I am bored of playing with you."

Feliciano froze at the gun pointing at his face. The childish smile Ivan had was replaced with a stone-cold grin. Feliciano shook uncontrollably. He could surrender, but then he would never know what happened to Ludwig.

With a huff, Feliciano raised the flag and whacked Ivan over the head with it. Caught off-guard, the Russian stumbled back with a yelp of pain. Feliciano took the chance to run the hell for it. Luckily, he was an expert at running away. But he didn't run back home to Italy. Instead, he ventured deeper into Russia. He wouldn't rest until he find Ludwig.

Even if it would cost him his life.

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**THE END.**

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	8. HRE x Chibitalia

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

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_**"We are never so helplessly unhappy as when we lose love." - Sigmund Freud.**_

_**Pairing: HRE x Chibitalia**_

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The young Holy Roman Empire barely clutched the sword in his hand as he lied flat on the battle ground. All around him, the echoes of his soldiers and the French troop sounded like distant whispers. The frightened horses ran away; their kicks vibrated the earth. Raging battle drums, along with screams of pain, composed a symphony of anguish. His men were losing badly against the French. He never would've expected France to be so strong.

As for the Holy Roman Empire himself, he had never been so exhausted. They had been fighting for so long; he had already lost track of when he was the last time he took a break. It would be nice if he could take a short nap.

He gazed up at the grey sky with half-open eyes. The sun was missing again today; he wondered why. If he could just catch a glimpse of the glowing orb, he would be content. He exhaled a sigh and tasted blood in his mouth. He was thirsty too; it would be nice if he could have some water.

He tilted his head at the sound of panic footsteps rushing toward him. He saw a blur of white and red. Someone picked him off the ground. The sword fell out of his hand. It hurt his body to be handled so carelessly. He groaned and dropped his head toward the person's chest. The person was warm, while he felt so cold.

It would be nice if the sun was here. Then he wouldn't feel so cold.

"Stay awake!"

"Keep your eyes open!"

"You can't die yet!"

The Holy Roman Empire coughed. The gush in his stomach squeezed out blood. He felt rough fingers combing through his short hair. The person holding him – what a rough person he was – pulled him into his chest. The Holy Roman Empire wanted to protest at the crushing hug, but his voice was lost somewhere within his throat. It actually wasn't so bad to be held so closely, though he was starting to feel less and less of everything around him.

He did feel – and perhaps it was the last thing he felt – a hard kiss to his forehead. The kiss made him close his eyes. He sighed again and couldn't even taste the blood in his mouth anymore.

"Say something… Say something."

And all the Holy Roman Empire said was, "Italia. Italia."

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**THE END.**

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	9. North American Brothers Love

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

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_**"True love begins when nothing is looked for in return." - Antoine De Saint-Exupery**_

_**Pairing: North American Brotherly Love**_

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Matthew watched his brother from his bed. He stifled a cough while Alfred put down a bed tray over his laps. He glanced down at the bowl of chicken noodle soup and smiled gratefully at his big brother. Alfred could really be a caring brother when he wanted to. He couldn't help but think that they would have a better relationship if Alfred was always so nice to him.

"Eat your soup and then sleep, you hear me?" Alfred said with a firm expression.

"I understand," Matthew answered with a nod.

Matthew sat up properly and ate his soup slowly. He stole glances at Alfred now and then. His brother wasn't watching him; instead, Alfred was mostly staring at his feet. Matthew noticed how tired Alfred looked and Alfred's cheeks were a little red. He felt bad for making Alfred take care of him while he was sick; though, technically, he didn't ask. Alfred just showed up suddenly at his door and wouldn't leave him alone. Still, Matthew didn't want his brother to worry over him.

"You should go home and get some rest," he said. "I can manage."

Alfred gave him a doubtful look that made him want to laugh. Alfred frowned with a pout, pointing a stern finger in Matthew's face.

"Are you sure? You aren't going to die on me if I leave?"

"It's only a cold," Matthew said with a roll of his eyes, "I'll be fine."

"Hmmm…" Alfred scratched his neck. He stood, with some trouble, and said, "If you need anything, call me right away."

Matthew nodded again. Alfred lingered a bit longer before he walked out of the room. Matthew picked up his spoon again and was about to take a sip when he heard a loud thud in the hall.

"Al?" he called. No one answered.

Something was wrong. Matthew put the tray down on the floor and hurried out of bed. He rushed outside and gasped when he saw Alfred lying on the floor.

"Alfred!" he shouted, kneeling by his brother's side. He pulled Alfred up into his arms; Alfred's body was heating up. He checked and figured that Alfred must have caught his cold and was braving it through. He sighed with frustration. Leave it to Al to pretend nothing was wrong.

He threw Alfred's arm over his shoulder and tried his hardest to carry his big brother into the room. Alfred was heavier than he had expected; probably from all the processed food he consumed religiously. Once Matthew reached his room, he rested Alfred on the bed. He pulled the cover over the passed-out American and fluffed the pillow for comfort. He took off Alfred's glasses and placed them on the nightstand. He stood there for a moment and watched his brother sleep. His heart tugged, knowing that Alfred was sick because of him. Yet, he was extremely thankful that Alfred cared enough for him to put him first. He flushed and giggled meekly. He leaned down, brushed away the stray hair from Alfred's forehead, and planted a gentle kiss.

"Alfred, you idiot," Matthew whispered with a smile.

He walked back to his side of the bed and slipped in. He looked over at Alfred's shoulder. They hadn't slept together in the same bed for so long. It was actually kind of exciting and made him feel like a kid again.

With a content sigh, Matthew scooted toward his brother and closed his eyes. He felt Alfred shift, and then a warm hand was placed on his shoulder.

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**THE END.**

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	10. Russia x China :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

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_**"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be." - Anton Chekhov**_

_**Pairing: Russia x China**_

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Ivan Braginski was mad. There was no doubt about that.

There was also no doubt that he was madly in love. Yes, love was the worst and the biggest madness he suffered from.

Madly in love, ferociously in love, desperately, hopelessly, helplessly in love.

And there was no cure for him – except to love more and deeper.

He took hold of Wang Yao's hands and guided the Asian into his embrace. Yao did not flinch; he gently accepted the lead and surrendered himself to Ivan's hold. Ivan wrapped his hands around the slender waist and pulled their bodies close. He turned his face into the luscious black forest and took a sharp inhale. He gasped with bliss; Yao's scent filled his nerves like opium fume.

He lifted his hand to his mouth and bit off the glove he wore. His bare fingers caressed Yao's cheek. Yao stared at him, unfaltering glance. Ivan kept his fingers roaming, mesmerizing the feel of the smooth skin. He glazed his thumb over Yao's lips – soft, like satin. He wanted to kiss them. Yao's hands moved back his shoulders to the back of his neck. Cinnamon eyes stared into his soul. Ivan saw his reflection in them. He saw himself falling deeper and deeper into the abyss.

Ivan leaned forward. The tips of their noses bumped. Yao tilted his head one way and Ivan tilted his the other. They breathed on each other. Yao's breath smelled of mint tealeaves, while Ivan tasted of vodka. They kissed with open mouths. Ivan's tongue invaded. Yao fought back. Ivan slumped forward, pushing his territory further. Yao leaned back to accommodate. Their lower bodies remained unmoved. They pressed their hips together – tighter and tighter yet.

Yao gasped. A soft moan.

Ivan kept his advances. His hands planted behind Yao's back – a secure hold, as if afraid that Yao would slither away. Yao's fingers dug through silver locks – gripping, pulling, so gently tugging. Ivan squeezed his arms with a frown. He needed to hold Yao close to him. He needed to become one with him.

They broke, breathless. Ivan put his hand under Yao's jaw. He lifted Yao's head. Their eyes met.

"You belong to me," Ivan said. "You belong to me."

And Yao did not protest. He only closed his eyes and breathed the vodka on his lips.

There was no doubt.

They were both mad.

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**THE END.**

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_Boyue's Note: Whew~ This concludes this batch of short stories. Maybe I'll write more in the future, maybe not. _

_Thanks for reading! 8D_

_06.23.09_

_8:25 PM_


	11. Prussia x Austria

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

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**"Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love." - Charles M. Schulz**

**Pairing: Prussia x Austria**

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All Gilbert wanted was to spend some time with his dear little brother. But fate would have it that Ludwig was out on a 'business meeting' with Feliciano and Gilbert was left by himself to wait for his brother's return in the vast house.

It would have been fine, as Gilbert was used to being alone, if it wasn't for one thing.

Roderich was here too.

The Prussian narrowed his eyes at the uptight Austrian sitting across from him. It seemed they both picked the wrong time to visit Ludwig. The dining table between them was long and wide, but it did little to create a sense of distance. Roderich was too close, and Gilbert did not like it one bit.

He kept his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth snarling, and his eyes glaring at the nonchalant Roderich. Roderich, on the other hand, seemed to care very little about Gilbert's presence. He had taken out a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter for a light snack. With the intensity of an artist, the Austrian was slowly coating the square saltine with just the perfect amount of peanut butter. It took Roderich a good three minutes to prepare one cracker and then another minute to clean the butter knife that Gilbert knew he was going to use again.

It was really getting on his nerves.

He watched Roderich eat the saltine with such poise. He growled at how the Austrian made sure that there was no crumb and if there was, he cleaned it up immediately. He took small bites, and the peanut butter never once touched his lips or went outside his mouth. It took, maybe, a minute and a half for Roderich to eat one little cracker.

Gilbert was seriously getting annoyed. And to top it off, the peanut butter was making him hungry. He was hoping to have lunch with Ludwig…

Just as he had expected, Roderich reused the butter knife that he had so diligently cleaned and prepared another cracker. Gilbert darted his eyes to the clock on the wall then to the door, hoping that Ludwig would come home already.

He turned his eyes back to the table and was very surprised to find a peanut butter cracker waiting for him on a napkin. He blinked at the snack, confused. He glanced up at Roderich, who was preparing another cracker with the same intense devotion.

"Tch," Gilbert scoffed, "I don't want it."

He shoved the napkin away, accidentally getting some peanut butter on his fingers. Roderich didn't react to the refusal; his attention was solely on keeping the peanut butter inside the saltine.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and licked his fingers. The taste of peanut butter stirred his hunger. His tongue kept moving even though the paste was gone. He spied the saltine sitting on the napkin, like a trap to tempt him.

What was the worst that could happen?

He snatched the saltine quick and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Peanut butter had never tasted so good. But the delicious taste was gone once he caught a scoff from Roderich.

He glared at the Austrian, who was delicately eating his cracker.

With his mouth full of cracker and peanut butter, Gilbert said, "What are you laughing about!?"

"Ah, nothing," Roderich responded after he dapped his mouth with a napkin and made sure there was no food in his mouth.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, clutching his fists. Damn that cocky Austrian!

He leaned over the table and snatched the jar of peanut butter. Using his fingers, he dipped into the jar and scooted out a handful of the brown paste. He sucked on his fingers loudly and dipped them into the jar again. Knowing Roderich, he wouldn't want to touch the peanut butter anymore. And just to be a jerk, Gilbert moaned and fluttered his eyes with pleasure.

Then, he started choking.

He coughed. The peanut butter clung to his tongue, throat, and the roof of his mouth. He gagged and tried to lick the paste off, but all it did was spread it everywhere in his mouth.

"S-shit!"

Could people die from choking on peanut butter?

He stood up quickly with his hands clasped over his throat. He needed something to wash the peanut butter. Roderich was already on the move toward the fridge.

Gilbert stumbled over to the sink, but Roderich pushed him against the table. In his hand was a glass of milk.

"Drink this," Roderich said hastily.

Gilbert didn't know what was more humiliating: choking on peanut butter or being fed milk by Roderich.

But he couldn't complain as he gulped down the milk. He clasped his hands over Roderich's and poured the content of the glass into his mouth. The milk leaked through his lips and trailed down his chin.

And Gilbert concluded that the most humiliating thing was his heart pounding as Roderich's fingers touched his chin and wiped the milk away. He forgot to swallow when Roderich's skin brushed against his neck.

He coughed, choked on the milk, and spit it out at Roderich.

"Please watch yourself, idiot!" Roderich backed away.

Gilbert put the glass down and wiped his mouth ferociously with the back of his hand. He pressed a hand over his chest and mentally yelled at his body to stop heating up.

"Be more careful in the future," Roderich warned before he went on to wash his hands in the sink.

"A-haha! As if I will die from choking!"

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest and laughed loudly. His eyes landed everywhere but on Roderich and his cheeks only became redder and redder.

He also decided that he would never eat peanut butter ever again.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Eeeep! First time writing Prussia and Austria... hopefully I didn't fail too hard! 8Db_

_... Any request for pairing you'd like to see?  
_

_06.28.09_

_11:15 PM_


	12. Prussia x Spain

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." - Jane Austen**

**Pairing: Prussia x Spain**

* * *

Gilbert was having a bad day. As such, he decided to visit Antonio in hope that the cheerful Spaniard would brighten him up with one of his special cheer-up charms.

He didn't expect to find himself in an awkward position.

He didn't expect to catch himself staring at the curve of Antonio's neck and admiring the tanned skin. He didn't think he would wonder how his Spanish friend's lips would taste as Antonio blabbered on about tomatoes and Romano's bed-wetting problem. He didn't think he would hesitate and ponder if Antonio would flinch if he were to lick his earlobe, where a bead of sweat was residing.

He most certainly didn't expect himself to realize that he might just have a thing for his good old friend.

"Romano is mad at me again," Antonio was saying with a sad frown, "why does he hate me?"

"Hey! The whole time I've been here, you've been moaning about Romano," Gilbert complained. "Pay attention to me!"

Antonio laughed apologetically, scratching the back of his neck. Gilbert darted his eyes to the flexing of Antonio's lean muscles. What with his light-hearted personality, it was easy to forget that Antonio was actually a rather strong man.

Gilbert licked his lips. His arm found its way around Antonio's shoulder and pulled the Spaniard closer to him. Gilbert turned a bit so his chest was rubbing against Antonio's arm.

"I'm having a bad day, so you are here to cheer me up, understand?"

Antonio just blinked without offering an answer, which told Gilbert that, well, he didn't understand. The Prussian sighed. Clueless Antonio was adorable, if not sometimes unbelievably frustrating.

Ah, screw it!

He leaned forward and captured Antonio's unsuspecting lips. He wasted no time in prying Antonio's mouth and invading with his tongue. He ran his hand through the tangled brown hair, curling them between his fingers. The tips of their noses bumped. Gilbert turned his head and pressed further. His tongue explored the moist orifice, claiming it as his territory. His free hand fumbled around Antonio's shirt, playfully caressing and teasing.

And still, no reaction from the Spaniard. No sign to urge him to continue. No warning to tell him to stop.

Gilbert decided that he needed a little more cheering up. He scooted forward without breaking his kissing. One hand dug deep in Antonio's hair. The other ventured its way along the abs to the hem of the shirt. He lifted up the shirt and moved his fingers underneath. Like a spider crawling after its prey, Gilbert glided his way to Antonio's chest. He gave the nipple a tease. Antonio flinched.

Gilbert grinned and finally pulled away for a break. But his fingers didn't quit their duty; they kept on massaging the pink bud until it started to erect under their touch.

Antonio lowered his eyes and flushed his cheeks. Gilbert widened his grin. He leaned in and breathed against the Spaniard's mouth.

"Antonio?" Gilbert drawled seductively.

"Do you think Romano will want to me leave me?"

Gilbert twisted the nipple, and Antonio yelped in pain. He let go with a loud huff and threw his arms over his chest. Antonio rubbed his chest with a disappointed frown.

"… Does that mean yes?" Antonio asked.

Gilbert could only sigh with a roll of his eyes. He smacked Antonio on the shoulder. With a firm face, he said, "Who would ever want to leave you?"

Antonio beamed a happy smile, cheeks flushing with excitement. Gilbert chuckled and smiled at the Spaniard.

"Thanks for cheering me up."

Antonio blinked with the same 'I don't understand' look. Still, he flashed a bright Spanish smile.

"No hay problema, mi amigo!"

Friends – That was the most Gilbert could expect.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Another Prussia... because he is awesome.  
_

_06.29.09_

_2:35 AM_


	13. Greece x Japan

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly." - Rose Franken**

**Pairing: Greece x Japan**

* * *

Kiku sipped his tea quietly with a tranquil face. He put down the cup carefully on the table, as not to stir the sleeping Heracles next to him. He smiled and resisted the urge to move his head even as Heracle's stray curl tickled his nose. The Grecian could use a good rest and Kiku was not about to disturb him.

He breathed slowly, letting his eyes close, and inhaled the aroma of the tea. Next to him, Heracles grumbled and let his head drop against his shoulder. Kiku smiled again. Days such as these were the kind he enjoyed.

He shifted – ever so slightly – when he felt his toes falling asleep. To his dismay, his minuscule movement did wake Heracles up.

"Excuse me," Kiku apologized quickly as Heracles blinked opened his weary eyes. "I have disturbed you. Please forgive me."

Heracles sat up straight and glanced at his surrounding with little interest. Kiku lowered his head and turned his eyes to his laps. He hoped he had not displeased the Grecian. A casual brush from Heracles told him he was forgiven. He flushed as Heracles caressed his face. Heracles planted a soft kiss on the apple of his cheek and Kiku let out a shy chuckle.

"I'll be back," Heracles said in his quiet voice.

Kiku nodded and watched Heracles stand up. He smiled to himself as Heracles walked toward the door. He had to admit that Heracles look rather enticing in a pale brown cotton yukuta, even though he wasn't used to seeing him in one yet.

Then, perhaps, Heracles himself was not used to wearing the Japanese robe. He stepped on the robe and tripped. Kiku could only gasp in horror as he watched the Grecian slam his face into the shoji and tear the wax paper in the process.

"Heracles-san!"

He rushed to Heracles' side. Heracles rubbed his nose with a frown.

"Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?" Kiku asked quickly, his hands gripped tightly around Heracles' shoulders.

"I'm fine," the Grecian answered shortly. A brief smile appeared on his otherwise aloof face. He turned his head to the door and said, "I broke your door."

"Ah, it is of no importance. I am simply glad you are unharmed."

"I am a little harmed," Heracles said, pointing at his nose.

Kiku ached at the redness on Heracles' nose. It was certainly nothing severe but he couldn't escape the feeling that he was somehow at fault. He lowered his head with apology. He only looked up again when he felt Heracles' hands rubbing his shoulders.

"Give me a kiss."

Kiku gasped, startled. Heracles stared at him with dazed eyes. Kiku flushed and turned his head away, not quite sure how to react properly. Lips quivering, the Japanese stammered a response.

"I-I… Perhaps… we should…"

"A kiss would make me feel better," Heracles insisted.

"Ah… Is that so… Then…"

Kiku swallowed hard. He rested his brown eyes on Heracles' chin as their faces came closer. He let his eyelids close as their lips came in contact. It was a simple and innocent kiss, but it still sent Kiku's heart pounding and blood rushing to his head.

Once they parted, Kiku gasped for air even though the kiss had only lasted a few seconds. He pursed his lips tight and clutched his fists. His hands naturally placed over his laps and his eyes averted from Heracles' gaze.

"Boku wa Kiku-san ga daisuki desu," Heracles said slowly, a weak smile on his face.

Kiku nodded with a pink blush and turned his head away. Now, to make sure Heracles didn't break any more door…

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I tried with Greece and Japan, I did. I just don't really know them that well. And I also notice that the majority of Giripan fics have similar plots so I tried to be a little different. o.o;;_

_06.29.09_

_10:11 PM_


	14. North American Brothers Love :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"Love, true love, is that which can give the most without asking or demanding anything in return." - Mazie Hammond  
**

**Pairing: North American Brotherly Fluff**

* * *

Matthew had settled himself in the break room. The G8 meeting was going on a little longer than they had expected and since it was siesta time, the group decided that it would be nice to take a short break.

Matthew leaned against the couch, happy to know that he was alone by himself. Not that he enjoyed being alone, he just wanted some time to himself. He opened his box of maple cream cookies and took out one. He savored the delicious treat and sighed contently. He smiled at Kumajirou sneaking behind him and taking a cookie for himself.

Just as he was about to take out another cookie, his American brother walked in. Matthew shrugged and smiled weakly at the stern expression on Alfred's face. Alfred must be in a bad mood; after all, the reason the meeting was extending was because he couldn't stop arguing with Arthur.

"Move," Alfred said coldly as he approached the couch.

"O-oh, yeah, sure."

Matthew quickly packed up his box of cookies. But he was having a hard time shoving the plastic container instead the box. He nervously glanced up at his brother, whose eyes were narrowing with impatience.

Stupid cookies! Get in the box already!

He heard an annoyed groan from Alfred and gave up packing the cookies. Screw the cookies – he needed to get out of his brother's wrath. Kumajirou was already bouncing away without his owner.

He stood – or tried to – but was toppled by Alfred lying down on the couch. He blinked at Alfred's head resting on his laps. He guessed it didn't really matter if he moved or not. He watched Alfred close his eyes and throw his arms over his chest. Angry, definitely, angry.

"Cookie?" Matthew asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Alfred opened one eye to scrutinize the maple-shaped snack. He huffed and opened his mouth wide. Matthew blinked again in confusion before he stifled a laugh. He put the cookie in Alfred's mouth, making sure he didn't drop the whole thing in or he could risk choking his brother to death. Death By Maple – that would be a headline for ages.

Alfred bit off half the cookie. He chewed and then stuck his tongue out in disgust. Matthew laughed; maple sugar was twice as sweet as granulated sugar after all!

"It's like eating sugar," the older brother complained. Still, he swallowed the half and opened his mouth for more.

Matthew fed the other half of the cookie and dusted his fingers. Alfred closed his eyes and chewed nosily. Meanwhile, Matthew took a new one for himself. Just as he was about to bite into the sweet cookie, Alfred opened his mouth again.

"More."

Mathew took a quick inventory of the cookies. He didn't have much to begin with… but he couldn't say no to his brother. He lowered the cookie meant for himself and gave it to Alfred instead. He dropped the whole cookie in Alfred's waiting mouth. To his surprise, Alfred ate the hard cookie without any trouble. What a big mouth Alfred had.

Matthew bit off half a cookie and ate it slowly. Alfred gaped, like a hungry hatchling waiting to be fed. Matthew eyed the half cookie in his hand with a frown. He should have never offered any to Alfred to begin with.

He fed his half cookie to Alfred and took out a new one quickly. He shoved the whole cookie in his mouth and chewed it even though the hard edge hurt his gum. He glanced at the box; there were about four or five cookies left.

"More," Alfred demanded.

"N-no!" Matthew protested with a mouth full of maple cream and dough. "You are eating them all."

"Stop hogging them."

"They are mine."

"Gimme! Gimme!"

Matthew dodged Alfred's wild flailing arms. His brother could be so childish sometimes, though it was certainly amusing to watch Alfred throw a fit without moving his body at all. He leaned away just in time to get out of the way of a punch.

"F-fine!" Matthew shouted. "Stop hitting me!"

He took out a new cookie and dangled it over Alfred's gaping mouth. It was like teasing a shark and Matthew couldn't help but laugh. Alfred tilted his head upward, hoping to get the cookie, while Matthew continued to bait him.

"Damn it, Matthew!"

And Matthew knew he should've known better than to tease his short-tempered brother. Alfred lurched upward, grabbed his hand, and pulled it down to his mouth. He bit hard on the cookie – along with Matthew's fingers. Matthew flinched at Alfred's teeth grinding against his flesh and bones.

"Ouch! Alfred!"

"Serves you right!" Alfred laughed with a victorious grin.

"You don't have to bite me," the younger one grumbled at his saliva-filled fingers.

"These are freakin' good," Alfred said, smacking his lips, "send me some later, okay?"

Matthew sighed with a nod of his head. Alfred might not know it himself, but his mood had shifted. Matthew thought that if the maple cream cookies made Alfred feel better, then he didn't really mind sharing them.

After all, that was what family was for, right? And God knows he loved his brother to death.

"More!"

Regardless of how ridiculously demanding he might be…

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: This one is for their birthday! Brotherly fluff is good, da? 8Db  
_

_06.29.09_

_11:28 PM_


	15. Sweden x Finland :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, and always with the same person." - Mignon McLaughlin**

**Pairing: Sweden x Finland**

* * *

Berwald and Tino had never argued before. And as such, Berwald had no idea what to do when he suddenly found Tino storming out of the bedroom. He only stood and stared blankly at the door slammed in his face. He stayed still and listened to the sound of another door slamming close.

There was a brief moment of silence.

Then his heart broke when he heard Tino's quiet sobbing somewhere in their home.

He left the bedroom and stood in the hallway. The crying came from the bathroom. He put his hand on the knob – it was locked. He stifled a sigh and knocked gently on the door, his hand jiggling the knob.

"Tino," the Swede called, "op'n up."

Tino responded with a sharp gasp for air. It sounded like he wanted to say something but the only sound he made was heavy panting and a loud sob.

"Tino."

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," the Finn choked out.

"t's ok'y."

"I-I… I k-know. I k-know... but… but I d-don't wa-want him to go."

"Peter bel'ngs w'th his f'mily."

Arthur wanted Peter back. And there was nothing Berwald and Tino could do.

"I t-thought we w-were his family," Tino mumbled through loud sniffles.

Berwald thought so too. But legally speaking, Peter was under Arthur's guardianship, whether they liked it or not. The Swede jiggled the knob again, signaling for Tino to open up. There was a soft click and the door creaked open.

Berwald studied the pained look on Tino's face; it did not suit the gentle Finn at all. He wrapped his arms around his spouse and pulled him close. Tino planted his hands behind Berwald's back and rested his chin on the broad shoulder.

"I-isn't th-there any… anything we c-can do?"

Berwald couldn't think of one. And the only thing he could do was pull their bodies closer, hoping that Tino would understand. He rubbed Tino's back as the Finn sobbed loudly on his shoulder. Tino clutched Berwald's loose shirt; his tears darkening the fabric.

"We c'n st'll see 'im," Berwald consoled.

"It w-won't be the s-same," Tino responded with a sniffle.

"We'd s'ill love 'im?"

"Of… of course!"

"Th'n noth'ng w'll ch'nge."

Tino relaxed and pulled away. Finally, he showed the sweet smile that Berwald adored. The Finn still sniffled, but at least he seemed happier. Berwald helped wipe his cheeks, which caused Tino to widen his smile.

"R-right, Berwald, nothing will change."

Berwald nodded with confirmation. Peter might be away, but he would still be their son. They would still be a family. Nothing would change.

"I-I'm sorry I yelled at you," Tino apologized as he rubbed his eyes.

"I und'rst'nd."

He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Tino's forehead. The Finn shrugged with a smile. He retook Tino into his arms and held him tight. Tino sighed deeply and nuzzled his face against Berwald's neck.

"We'd alw'ys be a f'mily."

"A-always!"

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Eep! I struggled with the plot on this one... o.o;;_

_That's it for this batch of stories! Until next time. Thanks for reading! 8Db_

_06.30.09_

_1:00 AM_


	16. America x England :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya  
_

* * *

**"Just because you love someone doesn't mean you have to be involved with them. Love is not a bandage to cover wounds." - Hugh Elliott**

**Pairing: America x England**

* * *

It was that damn time of the year again.

Arthur gripped the whisky bottle by the neck as he stumbled toward the vast grass field crowded with excited partygoers. Alfred always threw one hell of a birthday party, with tons of food and games and party favors. And it was always crowded too, since he sent out mandatory birthday invitation that no one was allowed to decline.

He was still pretty pissed that he had never once been invited to "the most important party of the year".

Arthur nearly fell into the pile of leaves as he took a hard swig from the bottle. He burped – unsightly – and went on tripping toward the crowd. He could slowly make out the figures in the distance. There was tall, blonde Ludwig with the shorter Feliciano clinging to his side. There was Francis, whose hands were all over young Matthew. He spotted some of the Nordics hanging in their tight group – who knew Alfred was even friends with the Nordics. Then there was Ivan and Yao, and he was actually surprised to see them there. From what he had heard, Yao rarely ever attended the party despite Alfred's threat. Ivan must have convinced him to make an appearance.

Ironic, really. The one who didn't want to come was the one invited. While the one that did was left out in the dark.

Arthur bumped into a large tree; the bark scratched the back of his hand. He gagged and held down the vomit in his throat. He breathed heavily through his nose and gazed at the distant group. He decided that he was close enough already; he really didn't want anyone to know that he was here. He leaned against the tree, hoping it would hold him up. His eyes darted to the grass while his fingers tightened around the bottle.

He took another swig and coughed hard when it went down the wrong way. He dropped the bottle and threw his hands over his mouth. His stomach convulsed. Within seconds, the content of his stomach was splashed all over the base of the tree. He wheezed loudly, stomach twisting with pain, mouth burning at the second taste of whisky.

He tried to stand up straight, but the abdominal muscles forbid it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spitted out the wrenched taste coating his tongue.

"Arthur?"

That certainly wasn't what he expected to hear. He looked next to him and groaned. How did Alfred get here without him knowing? To top it off, Alfred had caught him in such a pitiful position. He stumbled back against the tree and leaned up against it, partially to look nonchalant, partially because it was the only way he could stand up straight.

"I… I… Hey…"

"Why are you here?" Alfred asked with a frown. "I didn't invite you!"

"I know," Arthur said, surprising himself how easily he had submitted. "I-I am… I was just l-leaving."

He pushed himself off the tree with a huff. With the world spinning around him, he took a few steps away from the party. Behind him, the fireworks began painting the night sky with brilliant colors. He tried to walk with his dignity, but without something to hold on to, Arthur found himself tripping over his own shoe and tumbling down toward the grass.

He was both thankful and humiliated that he was caught in Alfred's arms. He groaned angrily at himself as he was pulled into Alfred's embrace and dragged back toward the tree. Alfred seated him down against the trunk – the part that wasn't splattered with vomit, of course. Alfred caressed his cheek with a smile. Arthur flinched at the affection and slapped the hand away.

"If you wanted to come, you could've just asked," Alfred said with a loud laugh.

"S-shut up! I don't want to be here."

"What was that?" Alfred leaned forward with his hand behind his ear. "Can't hear you mumbling."

Arthur groaned and pressed his hand against his throbbing forehead. He felt Alfred's hand touching him again and jerked his head. But Alfred kept stroking his cheek and chin, and Arthur found himself surrendering to the soothing contact. He brought his hand up and held it over Alfred's hand. Their eyes met, and Arthur dosed in how blue Alfred's eyes were. His heart raced as he found those eyes coming closer and closer toward him. He shuddered when he felt Alfred's breath over his lips. He lowered his eyelids with anticipation. Not that he wanted to be kissed by Alfred or anything like that…

"Alfred…"

"Well!" Alfred said as he suddenly jumped up. "The hero has to get back to the party. You can get yourself home, right? Okay! By the way, your breath stinks! Ah-ha!"

And without another word or look, Alfred skipped away and rejoined his friends. Arthur watched him go, teeth biting down on his lips.

"S-Stupid git!"

He pressed his hands into the barks and helped himself up. He rested his forehead against the hardness and sighed deeply. He threw a quick punch at the tree and hissed at the recoiling pain. The fireworks blasted into the sky. Colors of red, white, and blue danced amongst the stars. The crowd in the near distance rejoiced while Arthur ached alone by the tree.

And still, he thought, it was better off like this.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Independence Day calls for angsty fic, yes? 8Db_

_07.04.09_

_12:07 AM_


	17. Denmark x Norway

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: The amount of cliche in this story is nauseating!  
_

* * *

**"We are told that people stay in love because of chemistry, or because they remain intrigued with each other, because of many kindnesses, because of luck. But part of it has got to be forgiveness and gratefulness." - Ellen Goodman**

**Pairing: Denmark x Norway**

* * *

Denmark had come to accept the reality that no matter what went down with Norway: it was always all his fault. There was no point in arguing with it; he was always the villain, even if he didn't do anything wrong. Or at least, he didn't think he did anything wrong.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that he stood outside Norway's door and waited impatiently for his on-again-off-again lover to open the door. He adjusted his coat in the meanwhile and took a sniff of the bouquet of purple hyacinths mixed with white tulips – both of which the Internet said meant forgiveness.

He was the last person on earth who believed in such senseless flattery, but he was willing to do anything to get Norway back. The three-month silent treatment was too much for him. Three months... they never used to go three hours without seeing each other! He had tossed and turned every night, craving for Norway's scent. The empty space in his house could barely match the emptiness in his heart. He had thrown fits. He had sulked. He had drowned his sorrow with booze, food, and fluffy pillows. He had madly run around the house, screaming 'Fuck you, Norge'. He had wanted to end it once and for all.

'Screw you, I don't need you in my life', that sort of deal.

But it turned out he did need Norway in his life, and he didn't know if that made him happy or mad.

He pressed on the doorbell again and followed it with a series of knocks. He shifted his weight between his legs and clicked his tongue with annoyance. That Norwegian really knew how to play hard to get. It wasn't until he rang the doorbell again that light footsteps finally approached the door. He stood up straight and greeted Norway with the best smile he got.

"Go away," Norway coldly said.

"I am here to apologize," Denmark said, shoving the bouquet into Norway's arms.

The Norwegian didn't even give the flowers a second look. He kept his hands close to his side and stared intensely at Denmark.

"You never apologize," Norway pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm about to, so listen up."

Denmark sighed and took a deep breath. He had rehearsed the speech in his mind many times. Now was his chance to win Norway's heart back. But as soon as he opened his mouth, all the words he memorized were gone. He gaped like a goldfish out of water, blinking nervously at Norway, as if Norway could help him remember.

"Don't waste my time."

"No, wait! Look, Norge, I am sorry, I am sorry about everything, okay? I am sorry I always say stupid things and make you mad. I am sorry I don't pay more attention to you and what you need, and I am just thinking about myself. I am just sorry for so many things. I am sorry I can't remember your birthday. It's in April, right?"

"May," Norway corrected.

"Right, yeah. I'm sorry I don't know what your favorite flower is or how you take your coffee. I am sorry I ate all the cheese that one time. I'm sorry I don't pick up the socks and I don't separate the whites. You really shouldn't trust me with laundry anyways."

Norway raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, there was no change in his expression. Denmark took a quick breath and went on.

"I am sorry I sometimes forget to flush the toilet and leave wet towels on the floor. I am sorry I don't like sitting by the fireplace and reading books. I am sorry I can't understand what you see in those fairytales that you like so much. I am sorry I make fun of Iceland. I know how much you love him but that guy has zero personality."

Norway narrowed his eyes. Denmark made a mental note to steer all conversations topics away from Iceland.

"I am sorry I… I am sorry," he stuttered. He sighed and shook his head. The long speech was really taking the air out of his lungs. He looked up at Norway and said, "Norge, I am just sorry. And I came here today because I want you to know that… I can't change who I am."

Now there was a slight reaction from Norway. He flicked his eyes and glanced briefly up at Denmark.

"This is how I am, and you know that full well before we even got together. So I don't understand why you would go crazy over little mistakes that I make."

"I see," Norway responded in a low voice.

"But," Denmark said, taking a step closer, "but I want you to know that, for you, I am willing to be a better person… because I love you and if you aren't with me, I think I'll be in a lot of troubles."

Norway gave a weak nod. He eyed the flowers and took it gingerly into his hands. He played with the petals and took a slow sniff. Denmark softened. He put his hands on Norway's arms and rubbed them gently.

"I don't like tulips," Norway said.

"Yeah… well," Denmark sighed, scratching the back of his neck. He shrugged and said, "I'm sorry."

"… but thank you for them."

Denmark huffed with a grin. He leaned forward, hoping to get a much-needed kiss. Norway moved the bouquet out of the way. Their lips met. A tender kiss was exchanged. They pulled away; each stole a breath of air.

Denmark sighed contently and placed his hand on Norway's shoulder as they walked into Norway's home together.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Bleh! First time writing these two... so excuse me while I try to figure them out. Excuse the cheese. Excuse the cliche. Excuse the OOC. I do adore them very much together! 8Db_

_07.04.09_

_1:25 AM_


	18. Russia x China :3:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"Love is a promise; love is a souvenir, once given never forgotten, never let it disappear." - John Lennon**

**Pairing: Russia x China**

* * *

Ivan winced as Yao dabbed the vodka-drenched cloth over his fresh wound. He made a mental note of how dangerous Japanese swords were. Yao glanced up briefly before he continued on cleaning the skin. The Russian forced a smile on his face even as the alcohol burnt his flesh. It was just a scratch, really, but Yao insisted that they tended to it before an infection occurred. After all, Ivan wouldn't want to have his arm amputated.

He watched Yao remoisten the cloth with his vodka and pouted as the fabric drank his precious alcohol. He sneakily grabbed the bottle and took a hard swig before Yao gave him a slap on the hand. Yao snatched the bottle away with a firm look. Somewhere in the distance, rapid gunfire sounded off. They both froze and listened to the sound. They only resumed their action when they were certain the gunfire was going away from them.

Ivan shifted. It hurt to move the arm but if it wasn't as if they could forget the war and relax in the broken shack. They had to get moving before their enemies found them. But Yao wasn't ready to move until he was sure Ivan's injury was completely taken off.

Ivan flushed a bit when Yao started to button his military uniform. He certainly didn't expect Yao to go so far to make him forget his pain. But it wasn't a bad thing at all. He giggled nervously to himself as he watched Yao slide the shirt off his shoulders, revealing the plain undershirt he wore. He fidgeted and licked his lips. Yao took off his undershirt in a swift motion. Ivan blushed at the pale skin beneath, but his heart ached when he saw the scars over Yao's body. They were many, and he was certain there was more left to be seen.

Yao ripped his shirt into shreds. He picked a thin one and started to wrap it around Ivan's arm as a temporal bandage. Ivan kept his eyes on Yao's chest. He wanted to caress the skin, wanted to kiss the scars and make them disappear. He scoffed at his silly self; Yao wouldn't be too happy about it.

"It'll leave a scar," Yao said as he undid the bandaging and started over again.

"Ehh? Really? Ahh, I'll just think of it as a souvenir," Ivan laughed.

Yao met his eyes with an obvious dose of regret. The Asian lowered his head, his hands gripping the shredded shirt tightly, and his forearms trembling slightly.

"You shouldn't have gotten in the way," Yao said under his breath. He traced around the open wound with his fingers. "This was meant for me."

"Ah~ha! As if I'd let him hurt you," Ivan responded. He brought his hand up. With some hesitation – fearful of how Yao would react – he brushed his fingers over Yao's cheek. His hand was dirty, as was Yao's cheek. He smiled softly, "I want to protect you."

Yao placed a hand over his, and the Russian melted under the warmth. His smile widened and his cheeks flushed at Yao's sweet smile. Yao let his eyes close for a moment, and Ivan went on to caress the skin that he had desperately wanted to touch. He pushed himself forward, taking his chance that Yao wouldn't catch him. He leaned close, swallowed hard, and aimed for Yao's chapped lips.

Just as he was letting his eyelids fall, Yao opened his eyes and moved away. Ivan pulled back with a defeated sigh. Yao adjusted the dressing and placed it under the arm. He paused for a few seconds and gazed attentively at the cut. Ivan watched him, pondering what Yao was thinking. He skipped a breath as Yao slumped over and pressed his lips against the wound. The pressure ached, but Ivan could care less. All he could feel was Yao softly kissing his wound over and over again.

"Thank you," Yao said in between kisses, his eyes squeezed close with gratitude. "Thank you."

And Ivan just smiled and said, "You are always welcome."

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I have always wanted to write about wartime Ivan and Yao. And now I did... however vague it was. 8D;;_

_07.04.09_

_3:15 AM_


	19. Spain x Romano :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This story contains blood! D8_

* * *

**"Don't find love, let love find you. That's why it's called falling in love, because you don't force yourself to fall, you just fall." - Unknown**

**Pairing: Spain x Romano**

* * *

Lovino hurried through the crowded marketplace. His eyes were drawn to the crates of fresh tomatoes next to the vegetable stand, but he forced himself to keep walking. It would be best if he left the Spanish territory as early as possible. He had had it with Antonio and his stupid antics. He was leaving him for good.

The little Italian puffed his cheeks with air. Just thinking about the Spaniard and his stupid grin was making his blood boiled with anger. He stomped his feet and charged up his pace, not really looking at where he was going or if he was going the right way.

He turned the corner and kept himself blended with the market crowd. He picked up the scent of food, and his stomach growled after it. He gave himself a slap on the stomach. Now wasn't the time to think about food. But his mouth couldn't help but water at the thought of Antonio's delicious food.

He was snapped out of his fantasy when he heard his name being shouted faintly. He glanced around, thinking it could be a sheer coincidence. Surely, Lovino was a common name in Spain, and surely the other Lovinos would have crazy Spaniards shouting after him.

"Lovino! Lovino!" he heard Antonio shouting somewhere in the crowd.

Quick like a bunny, Lovino slipped between two stands and hid himself. He saw Antonio run by and stop by the vendor on the opposite side.

"E-excuse me," Antonio said, completely out of breath, "h-have you seen… a little-a little boy c-coming through here?"

The vendor gave a confused shrug, and Antonio panted heavily as he scanned the market. His face and neck were coated with sweat.

Lovino pouted with his cheeks flushed. He didn't imagine Antonio would actually chase him. He didn't even think Antonio would've noticed his absence. He lowered his chin toward his chest and frowned. It was pretty bratty of him to run away without a word. Maybe he should show his face and at least say a proper good-bye.

He watched Antonio run down the street, nearly out of his sight. He stood up and crawled out from between the stands. As he was about to walk after Antonio, he was roughly picked off the ground. He kicked his feet naturally and turned his head. He was met with an angry glare from one of the vendors: a very nasty-looking and buff vendor, to add.

"You little thief!" the man huffed, nostrils flaring.

"What are you, stupid?" Lovino growled. "I didn't take anything!"

"Thief!" the man shouted again as it was the only word he knew how to say. "Little thieves like you should have your hands chopped off!"

Lovino thrashed his arms and legs ferociously, but the vendor had a good hold on him. He screamed and cursed wildly as he was carried a few stands down to the butcher, who seemed to have a similar opinion on how to deal with thieves.

"Damn it, bastard! Let go of me!" Lovino shrieked at the top of his lungs. He flailed his arms to no avail. The man was simply too big and strong for little him.

He was tossed on the butcher block like a piece of meat. The market-goers stared and muttered amongst themselves. But none of them stopped to help Lovino as he was pinned down by the vendor while the butcher lifted up his cleaver with little chunks of meat stuck to the edge. The butcher flashed a twisted smile, and Lovino couldn't scream anymore.

If he didn't have his hands, how was he going to eat tomatoes?

The sharp blade came down on him like the guillotine. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. Maybe it would hurt less if he didn't watch himself get amputated.

He opened his mouth and screamed the only thing that came to mind: "Antonio!"

He expected excruciating pain, but he heard a loud ruckus instead. A wave of shocked gasps sounded from the crowd. He felt the hand over his chest left him.

Lovino opened his eyes to catch a drop of blood dripping on his cheek. It all happened very slowly. He saw Antonio's clear green eyes raging with anger. He glanced to his left. His breath caught in his dry throat at the blood dancing down the dirty cleaver.

Antonio had stopped the knife with his own hand.

He blinked and blacked out. The next thing he saw was Antonio holding the cleaver and lifting it high. And then there was a loud cry of pain and a big splash of blood. He saw the butcher fall to the ground. He watched the man roll around, kicking his feet, holding his wrist that didn't have a hand on it anymore.

He saw the manic glare in Antonio's eyes as he stalked after the vendor. The Spaniard's shoulders raised and fell with each breath he took.

"Mi Dios," the vendor stammered, "Mi Dios."

Lovino could only shriek in horror while the vendor tumbled to the ground and beg for his life. Antonio's response was to raise his hand high. The rays of sun reflected off the bloody cleaver.

"Antonio!" Lovino cried, "Stop it! Stop it!"

Beneath the sunny deposition, Antonio was a brutal conqueror at heart. How could he have forgotten that?

Lovino clutched his blood-soaked clothes, hands trembling with confusion and fear. He sniffled hard, not remembering when he started to sob.

Antonio dropped the knife down, and the vendor took his chance to run away. Lovino held his breath as the Spaniard walked over to him. He saw the gushing wound on Antonio's hand; blood poured out like water through a broken dam. He searched the green eyes; they were cold, so unlike the Antonio that he loved.

"Oh, Lovino," Antonio muttered. "Gracias a Dios."

Antonio hugged him tight – tighter than he had ever done so before. The Italian squeezed his eyes and cautiously put his hands on Antonio's back. He could feel Antonio shaking. He hiccupped while Antonio ran his bloody fingers into his hair.

"Lovino, don't ever leave me."

Lovino nodded his head by bumping his chin against Antonio's shoulder. Antonio softened and pulled away. He smiled, but it was nothing like his usual smile. It was sadistic and threatening, and it frightened Lovino.

He scooted off from the butcher block and took Antonio's hand that was moist with fresh blood. He held it tight and made a note to never leave home again.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: The story was inspired by the quote but the plot went into a different direction. I personally like it because I believe in badass!Spain. 8D;;_

_07.04.09_

_5:00 AM_


	20. Cuba x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"We never forget those who make us blush." - Jean-François De La Harpe**

**Pairing: Cuba x Canada**

* * *

Cuba had been hiding behind the short bushes for a while now. He checked his watch and sighed impatiently. He glanced around. His eyes briefly landed on the white ice cream truck parked on the sidewalk. He frowned; he was certain this was the road Matthew took to get home.

He rotated his shoulders to alleviate some of the tensions. Just then, he located the blonde Canadian walking up the street. His heart skipped a beat and his body temperature rose up rapidly.

Cuba waited until Matthew was crossing in front of him before he leaped out. Matthew's first reaction was to scream and stumble down, his arms hugging his bear tightly.

"H-hey!" Cuba shouted.

"C-cuba?" Matthew panted. Kumajirou promptly added a 'who' to the conversation.

"Give me your wallet!"

"W-what?"

"Your wallet!" Cuba took a bold step forward, hand outstretched. "Give it to me!"

Matthew fumbled into his pocket and handed his wallet over just as demanded. He tucked his chin in the top of his bear's head. Cuba took the wallet and ran to the ice cream truck quickly. He placed an order and turned back to look at Matthew. His cheeks flushed when he saw those violet eyes gazing at him. Granted, they looked frightened and confused, but Cuba still thought they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

He hurried back to Matthew with two ice cream cones and the wallet tucked under his arm. He handed one over with a heavy blush. Matthew studied the cone briefly before he took it with a gratuitous smile.

"Sorry," Cuba said, shifting his feet nervously, "I didn't have any Canadian dollar."

"Oh! That's understandable," Matthew said. He took back his wallet and beamed a happy smile.

"C-can, um, I, I, uh, walk you home?"

Matthew nodded and gave his ice cream a quick lick. He lowered it for Kumajirou to have a taste as well. Cuba frowned at the bear, wondering if bears were supposed to have ice cream. But he shrugged off it and took a bite out of his own ice cream.

"So what are you doing here?" Matthew asked.

"I-I… Um… I was just… in the neighborhood," Cuba stuttered. He found it heart-racing that Matthew always looked at him when they spoke. Most people were intimidated by his big statue and mean face, but not the kind-hearted Matthew. He said, "I-I didn't think I'd, um, run into you."

Matthew nodded again and ate his ice cream with a sweet smile. Every now and then, he would glance up and smile at Cuba, which made the Cuban's heart jumped all over the place. Cuba scratched his chin nervously as he realized that he was eating his ice cream too quickly. He checked Matthew's status and scoffed as he watched the polar bear trying to wrestle the cone from its master's hand.

"Hey! Oh!" Matthew gasped. "Kumajirou!"

Cuba frowned at the ice cream smeared over Matthew's chin. Kumajirou was victoriously licking the frozen treat. Matthew puffed but didn't get mad otherwise. He just wiped his chin with a good-nature smile.

"You have, um, something," Cuba said, pointing at the melting ice cream, while Matthew tried to clean himself. "No, it's on your chin. N-no, let me."

Before he even knew it, Cuba was reaching toward Matthew's face. He rubbed the sticky spots from Matthew's chin. Matthew looked up at him with a soft smile. Every time Matthew blinked, Cuba felt a piece of his soul was taken into them. He retracted his hand quickly and turned away, certain that his face must be the color of tomatoes by now.

"Merci!"

Matthew snatched the ice cream back from his bear. By then, the treat was half gone. Cuba swore he saw a bit of fur in the ice cream but Matthew ate it nonetheless. He sounded off a short laugh and bit into the waffle cone just as they came to the crosswalk.

"A-are you, um," Cuba said with the cone in front of his mouth, "are you, uh, are you doing… anything t----"

"Oh, it's my brother," Matthew interrupted.

Cuba flinched. He looked across the street and indeed, Alfred F. Jones was standing there waving like an idiot. Well, Matthew was waving back, but he didn't look like an idiot doing it. In fact, the Canadian looked adorable waving with a sheepish grin.

Still, Cuba took a step back and lowered his eyes. He had never gotten along with Alfred and the last thing he wanted to do was be near him.

"Thanks for the ice cream," Cuba said. "I'll see you later."

"Oh," Matthew said with a blink, "No, no. Thank you for buying them, and thanks for walking me home."

Cuba smiled, but his smile was weak in comparison to Matthew's bright one. The Canadian hurried across the street, where his brother was waiting. Cuba watched from his side of the street. His fingers cracked the cone as he watched Alfred snake his hand around Matthew's waist and take a huge bite out of the ice cream. Maybe it was the angle he was watching from, but he couldn't help but notice how close their faces were.

It made him sick.

He sighed deeply and shoved the whole cone into his mouth, despite how much it hurt to do so. He stole one last look at the North American brothers. They were walking away with Alfred's hand still on Matthew's waist.

He, too, was about to walk away when he caught Matthew turning his head. The Canadian smiled at him, eyes glowing with kindness. It was a brief smile, a short good-bye, but it took all the negativity out of Cuba. The Cuban tucked his hands into his pockets and walked off with a content smile on his face.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I don't ship this pairing... yet they are cute to write about! 8D_

_07.05.09_

_6:03 PM_


	21. Spain x Romano :3:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul." - Judy Garland**

**Pairing: Spain x Romano**

* * *

Lovino wasn't sick. He was simply feeling quite ill. It was perfectly natural, in his stubborn opinion, to throw up a few times, suffer from a high fever as well as a terrible headache, lose all appetite for food, and curse tiredly in his bed.

All in a day's work, really.

Antonio, however, had a completely different idea and reaction.

Lovino groaned and shut his eyes close. Even though his pillow and sheet were soaked with his cold sweat, the Italian was still getting ready to drift off to much-needed sleep. He shifted his head a little with all his strength and groaned again.

Now if only he had something that could make the annoying Spaniard shut up. He listened to Antonio's panic footsteps echoing through the large house. Rapid instructions were fired at the servants. Lovino caught a sentence or two. Apparently, Antonio was telling the servants to mail some banana pies to the fishbowl. Then again, he had never really paid attention during Spanish classes.

He pushed his head against the soft pillow and let out another groan. He took short breathes and tried to clear his mind. His stomach gurgled from the lack of food, and he mentally ordered to be quiet. He couldn't keep food down anyways.

He steadied his breathing and felt his mind drifting off. A rush of relief came over him. The night breeze from the opened windows cooed him softly like a lullaby. For the first time today, Lovino sighed contently and a brief smile appeared on his tired face.

Then he felt a weight on his forehead. He furrowed his brows, annoyed by the sudden discomfort. He opened his eyes – as much as he didn't want to – and checked the source.

Antonio was blankly down at him with his hand on his forehead.

"What are you doing, bastard!?" Lovino protested and gave a swift slap of the Spaniard's arm.

Antonio flinched back and smiled apologetically with a giddy blush. Lovino spotted a hint of exhaustion in the green eyes. He puffed his cheeks like a blowfish in hope of frightening off the Spaniard.

"Your face is so red… like a tomato!" Antonio giggled and had the nerves to pinch Lovino's cheek.

"Shut up! Damn it! Let me sleep!"

Lovino tossed his whole body away. His muscles scowled him, sending soreness through his entire body. The Italian tucked his chin into his chest and pulled the heavy sheets up to cover his shoulder. He huffed loudly: a signal to Antonio that he should leave.

But Antonio – being Antonio – didn't catch the hint. Lovino gritted his teeth as he felt Antonio's weight next to him on the bed. On another other day, Lovino would have kicked the living daylight out of Antonio. But tonight, he was simply too plagued with fatigue to bother with the Spaniard.

He kept close to his side and bunched up the sheets selfishly for himself. Not that Antonio was slipping under the sheets though. He could sense that Antonio was just sitting on top of the bed.

He couldn't even think what nuisance Antonio was planning to conduct. He pressed his eyes close and tried his hardest to sleep. But his chest tightened at the thought of Antonio being so near. He could smell the musky scent of the Spaniard; the hint of tomatoes and spices aroused his senses.

He embarrassedly pushed his palm against his stomach when it sounded a loud grumble. Antonio chuckled. Lovino cursed under his breath and pulled the sheets over his head, which only made Antonio laughed again.

"Leave me alone, damn it!" Lovino snarled under the dome of heavy sheets.

Antonio either ignored him or didn't hear it. Instead of granting his wish, Lovino felt the mattress bounce as Antonio shifted on the bed. Judging from the pressure on the sheets, Lovino concluded that Antonio was lying down.

That arrogant bastard… who gave him permission to sleep in his bed?

Lovino knocked the sheets back down. He tossed over again to face Antonio, who had indeed lied down. He puffed his cheeks again and was about to open his mouth when he was cut short by Antonio.

Antonio was humming a soft tune. His head tilted left and right and his green eyes glanced about the room, oblivious to Lovino's angry staring.

Lovino watched. Antonio's lips barely moved but he could hear faint words – Spanish – coming out of his mouth. It was hard to tell the quality of Antonio's tone, but for some odd reason, it made Lovino soften and forget about kicking the Spaniard out of his bed.

He took a hard breath and let his eyes close again. With his sight turned off and him lying in stillness, his hearing picked up Antonio's song better. Antonio didn't have a great voice but it had enough tenderness to make up for it. In fact, the rawness of it actually made the song sound better. The mumbled lyric was difficult to hear but Lovino heard a few words about mothers, water, and of course, tomatoes.

He scooted closer – but with discreet – so he could hear better. It didn't help that Antonio alternated between singing and humming, and with him lying flat, his voice was hushed and strained.

Lovino bumped his hair against Antonio's shoulder. He felt Antonio shift once again and felt a hand on his shoulder. He would've complained about it, but since the sheets were thick enough that he didn't actually feel skin-on-skin, he let it go.

Besides, Antonio's poor singing was actually helping to put him to sleep. He could feel his own breathing slowing down as sleep massaged his body. He fluttered his eyes once to look at Antonio. He pulled his head back when he realized how close their faces were. But otherwise, he was too drained of energy to move anymore.

Lovino melted into the welcoming embrace of rest. Before he did, he felt Antonio's breath on the tip of his nose. He heard Antonio's incoherent Spanish words – breathless and unrefined – gently whispered into his ears.

And he finally slept, completely at ease.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *


	22. Switzerland and Liechtenstein

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." – Sophocles**

**Pairing: Switzerland and Liechtenstein Siblings Love**

* * *

Liechtenstein gazed attentively out the window. It was a very nice afternoon. The soothing breezes rustled her short hair. The sky was clear and the few clouds were white as snow. The glow of the sun caressed the earth. The birds sang in the distance.

But every now and then, she would hear the Luftwaffe foolishly flying over Swiss territory. A string of rapid fires would ensue. The plane would explode in the mid-air or it would come crashing down.

It was the reason why Liechtenstein was gazing out her window. She watched a trail of grey smoke speeding toward the mountains. Another unfortunate soldier had met his doom under her brother's hands.

She pried herself away from the depressing scene and paced mindlessly in her room. She wondered if Switzerland would object to having cheese fondue again and when he would call it a day. She shuffled her way out of her room and strolled to the kitchen.

She checked the fridge, loaded with inexpensive cheese and other ingredients. As she was rearranging the content, the front door opened and slammed shut. She gasped, a bit startled, and closed the fridge. She hurried toward the front of the house with a welcoming smile.

The smile disappeared from her soft face when she saw blood on the floor. She stared up at Switzerland leaning against the wall with quiet pants; his hand pressed hard on his upper arm.

"Bruder!"

She rushed to her brother's side. Switzerland kept a dignified look even though his eye squinted with pain.

"It's fine," Switzerland said before she even said a word.

"Did someone attack you?" Liechtenstein asked. "Are we being invaded?"

"No, it's nothing like that." The older brother steadied his voice. He drew a breath and explained, "I was too close to a plane. The pieces got me."

Liechtenstein was relieved for a moment before she panicked again. She reached toward the wound but Switzerland kept it covered with his hand.

"It's nothing," he said with a shake of his head. "I'll take care of it."

"Please let me see it," she pleaded.

"No. I don't… I don't want you to."

Liechtenstein lowered her head and pursed her lips. Even still, Switzerland didn't give in. He lingered against the wall for a moment longer before he stepped away. Liechtenstein eyed the crimson dots on the floor. She looked up just in time to see her brother walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

She didn't know if she appreciated or loathed the fact that Switzerland always hid his vulnerability. She understood his need to appear strong and invincible, but it would be nice if he show a bit of weakness now and then.

She headed back to the kitchen and wet a cloth. She cleaned the blood off the floor and followed the trail to the bathroom. Switzerland didn't close the door completely, and Liechtenstein shyly took a peek inside. She couldn't see her brother but she saw his reflection off the mirror. Switzerland had taken off his military jacket. She watched him grit his teeth as he drove the pliers into his open wound.

She threw her hand over her mouth as Switzerland yanked out a piece of bloody metal. Granted, it was only a small piece but she couldn't imagine how painful it must have been. Switzerland breathed heavily and dropped the pliers into the sink. He checked the wound and sighed with his hand rubbing his forehead.

Liechtenstein stayed still and watched Switzerland clean up the mess in the bathroom. She backed up with a gasp when Switzerland headed for the door. She didn't have time to flee before her brother was staring at her with an open mouth.

"Liechtenstein!" he scowled.

"Please forgive me," she apologized, lowering her head.

"Ugh… Don't worry about it." He heaved and threw his hand to his waist. "Why don't you go prepare dinner?"

"Bruder, please allow me to tend to your injury."

Switzerland flinched with hesitation. Liechtenstein stepped forward, making her stance. She took hold of Switzerland's arm and held it gently with a concerned look.

"Please," she said softly. "It hurts to see you wounded."

"That's why I didn't want you to see it…"

Liechtenstein took another step forward. Switzerland sighed heavily and gave a subtle nod. Liechtenstein smiled with a gasp of relief. She slipped her hand down and held hands with her brother. Side by side, she led him into the bedroom.

Switzerland took a seat on the edge of the bed. Liechtenstein settled down next to him with the first-aid kit on her laps. She opened the box and took out the bandages and alcohol.

"Thank you," she said.

"Huh? For what?" Switzerland frowned.

"For protecting me."

"Oh…!" He blinked and turned away shyly. "Don't mention it…"

Liechtenstein smiled. She turned her attention to treating the wound. Switzerland glanced down a few times and exhaled heavily through his nose. Somewhere in the distance, the roar of another plane could be heard. Switzerland clutched his fist and stared angrily out the window. Liechtenstein sighed; she made a quick prayer for the war to end soon.

"Let me wrap the wound," she said, "then you can return to the battlefield if you wish."

"Hn," Switzerland said with a nod. "Don't wait up."

She finished up the bandages and scooted away to double-check her work. She watched her brother throw on his jacket and button it up. With only a small pat to her shoulder, Switzerland left the room without another word. Liechtenstein stayed seat on the bed and watched him leave.

Switzerland was always fighting for her. The least she wanted to do in return was to take care of him.

If only he would let her.

* * *

**THE END.

* * *

**

_Boyue's Note: Vash is such a good brother. 8D_

_07.11.09_

_1:31 AM_


	23. Spain x Romano :4:

APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

* * *

**"You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel." – Anonymous**

**Pairing: Spain x Romano**

* * *

It wasn't like Romano was in love with Antonio.

It was just that, if he HAD to choose someone to spend the rest of his life with, it would have to be Antonio.

And it definitely wasn't because he liked Antonio or anything like that. In fact, he found the cheerful Spaniard barely bearable.

It was only out of necessity because he knew Antonio could and would provide for him; that way, he wouldn't have to work. It was out of habit because he had already spent his whole life with him; he might as well live with him for the rest of it. It was for his own benefits really.

It wasn't like he went into a panic when he came home one day and found everyone packing. It wasn't like his heart stopped beating when he found out that Antonio was moving. It wasn't like he wanted to cry – just a tiny little bit – when he realized that Antonio didn't say a word about it.

"I forgot," was Antonio's rushed apology.

It wasn't like he actually ended up crying just a tiny little bit and head-butted Antonio off the balcony. It wasn't like he was relieved that Antonio wasn't leaving him behind.

Well, actually, he was relieved. But it was for a different reason. He couldn't have his provider disappearing.

It wasn't like he guarded Antonio's room that night to make sure he wasn't ditched in the middle of the night.

It wasn't like he started thinking about Antonio and, if Antonio did leave him, how much he would miss the way he cooked tomatoes and the way he smiled and his laugh and the flickers in his green eyes when he was excited and the quiet snores he made and his heavily-accented Italian (for the love of God he was trying but just couldn't get it quite right) and his tanned hands and…

And… how being with Antonio made him…

Happy.

Moderately.

It wasn't like he sneaked into Antonio's room and watched him sleep. It wasn't like he smirked when Antonio smiled in his sleep. It wasn't like he kissed his fingers and then placed them over Antonio's lips and kind of pretended he was kissing him because he would never be caught dead actually kissing the Spaniard.

It wasn't like he whispered as quietly as he could that if Antonio were to leave him behind, well, he just wouldn't know what to do.

It wasn't like he wanted to be together forever because forever was too damn long a time and neither of them would know what would happen tomorrow.

It was just… it would be nice if they could be together for as long as possible.

It wasn't like he froze when Antonio suddenly opened his eyes and reached up to touch his cheek. It wasn't like Antonio's touch made his skin tingle and his heart erupt.

"Want to sleep together?"

It wasn't like he said yes and crawled into bed. It wasn't like he hugged Antonio or let Antonio hugged him.

"Tomorrow is going to be a big day!"

It wasn't like he didn't want to let go.

No, no, no.

It wasn't like he was in love with Antonio at all.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Wah~ I'm writing a lot of Spain x Romano! I love them together! ;A;_

_07.17.09_

_12:33 AM_


	24. Russia x China :4:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: What is this "historical accuracy" you speak of? o.o;;_

* * *

**"True love doesn't have a happy ending, because true love never ends. Letting go is one way of saying I love you." – Unknown**

**Pairing: Russia x China**

* * *

Yao lost count of how long they had been hugging. He only knew that it hadn't been long enough yet. He relaxed his arms only to strengthen them again to keep his tight hold around Ivan's neck. Ivan's board hand gently rubbed his back in a downward motion, as if trying to push away the sorrow that consumed them. The other hand around his waist kept him secured and warm.

Ivan sighed softly and a brief breeze of air tickled Yao's cheek. In the far distance, airplanes bombarded the city. The earth shook slightly beneath their feet. Ivan moved his hands to Yao's shoulders and gave a small push. Yao winced and fastened his lock on Ivan's neck. Ivan sighed again and his hands dropped to hold Yao's waist. Once again, Ivan pushed him away.

"I have to leave now," Ivan whispered.

"I know."

Yao used all of his willpower to pry his arms apart. He moved one hand to Ivan's cheek and another one to his shoulder. He locked eyes with Ivan. Weak furrowed brows spoke his distraught. Ivan put on a small smile. Yao tried to smile back but his muscles refused to budge. Ivan gave him a playful pinch on the cheek.

"I like it better when Yao is smiling!"

In spite of Ivan's attempt to lighten the mood, Yao's heart continued to sink. He fought the urge to slump into Ivan's embrace, especially when he thought of how he didn't know if he would ever get to be in those arms again.

"Be careful," he warned, and Ivan nodded.

"You be careful too," the Russian said with a stroke to his cheek.

"Promise you will come back."

"I will," Ivan chirped, beaming a happier smile. "When I come back, Yao has to promise me one thing~!"

"Anything."

"Promise you'll marry me."

Yao searched Ivan's face and waited for a 'just kidding'. But those lilac eyes told him the truth. He lowered his eyes and sighed toward the ground. He let out a quick scoff and shook his head. He slid his hands down and interlocked them with Ivan's gloved ones.

"I don't want to wait," he said.

"Yao… You mean…"

"I want to marry you now."

Ivan chuckled and cupped Yao's face. He drew their heads close and rested their foreheads against each other. Yao held Ivan's wrist and breathed heavily, nibbling his bottom lip as he did.

"I guess we give each other something as a symbol," Ivan said with a quick laugh.

Ivan dug through his pockets with a nervous smile. Yao did the same, only to come up empty-handed, unless he intended to give Ivan lint as a wedding exchange. On the hand, Ivan was having better luck. He released his handgun from the holster and placed it in Yao's hand.

Yao studied the weapon and recognized it as Ivan's personal favorite. He looked up and frowned as Ivan sandwiched the gun between their palms.

"Use it to protect yourself like I would protect you."

Yao nodded with understanding. He took the gun and gripped it with both hands, eyes gazing at the initial engraved on the side.

"I… I don't have anything…"

Ivan hummed as he thought to himself and scrutinized Yao. He reached past Yao's hair and dug into the red string serving as a hair tie.

"How about this?" Ivan asked, giving the string a tug.

Yao reached up and undid the string. His hair cascaded over his shoulders like a silk cloth gliding in air. He looked at the plain and unsightly string, hoping that he could offer something more sentimental and meaningful instead. But Ivan seemed to like it as he smiled widely.

He tucked the gun into his belt. He signaled for Ivan to extend his hand, and when he did, he wrapped the string around his wrist like a bracelet. He tied a big bow at the end and squeezed it into Ivan's skin. They clutched each other's hand and brought their faces close.

"I'll carry a part of you with me everywhere," Ivan cooed with a pleased smile.

"Come back to me," Yao pleaded, "my husband."

They shared a deep kiss that broke their hearts. Yao squeezed their hands bone-crushingly tight. Ivan ran his fingers through the loose black hair. They parted for air. Yao stroke Ivan's cheek, moisture clouding up his vision. Ivan pecked his forehead and chuckled sheepishly. They pulled their faces apart first, and then their hands followed.

"Be careful with Germany," Yao said.

"Hmm! Wait for me~!" Ivan laughed.

And as much as it crushed him to do so, Yao finally let go.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: The cheese, I'm drowning in it! D:_

_P.S. Visit my livejournal account for some adult-oriented stories. ;DD  
_

_07.17.09_

_2:05 AM_


	25. Sealand x Latvia :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"Love is being stupid together." -- Paul Valery**

**Pairing: Sealand x Latvia**

* * *

Raivis thought he was a bit too old to be playing hide-and-seek. But that wasn't stopping him from crawling under the table and hiding behind the long checkered cloth. He tugged his legs into his chest and listened to Peter's faint counting down in the living room. He giggled softly at how quickly Peter was counting. Even though it was blatant cheating, he was having too fun to be mad.

"Three! Two! One! Here I come!" Peter shouted.

Raivis pulled his legs closer. The tablecloth didn't quite reach the floor and he could see shadow moving about through the small gap. He held his breath when he heard Peter's footsteps approaching. He hunched his shoulders. Peter's silhouette hovered over the table. He kept himself perfectly still like a rock – a trick he had picked up from living with Ivan.

To his surprise, he wasn't discovered. He watched Peter's feet move away from the table and head toward the kitchen. He giggled when he heard cabinets opening and closing. Peter even checked the fridge! He saw Peter leaving the kitchen and running upstairs. He sighed with a smile and relaxed his poise. Who would've thought the table would be a good hiding place? But he guessed it was his lucky day.

He rested his chin on his knees and listened to Peter's rapid footsteps roaming on the second floor. Doors were swung open quickly, and he could sense Peter's frustration. Peter was never really the patient kind of boy. He froze again when he heard him coming back down the stairs.

"Raivis?" Peter called.

Raivis threw his hand over his mouth. As if he would answer! He listened and made sure that Peter had left the dining room before he shifted on his knees to take a peek. He caught Peter stepping out to the yard. Hanatamago greeted him with a cheerful bark. He sat up straight again when Peter came back into the house.

"Raivis!" the Sealander shouted.

Raivis sat still and watched Peter's shadow dart through the house. Peter checked the kitchen again before he went to the front of the house. Raivis chuckled excitedly, smiling at the fact that Peter didn't check the most obvious place.

Peter rushed back into the house and ran upstairs again. Raivis took the chance to stretch his tensed body. Before long, Peter was rushing back down the stairs.

"Raivis! Where are you?"

Raivis smiled proudly to himself, hugging his knees close.

"R-Raivis! Raivis!"

He frowned, noticing that Peter was sounding a little distraught.

"Raivis! R-Raivis… I don't want to play anymore…! Where are you!"

Raivis gasped in shock. Peter was crying! He didn't even think about it; he hurried out from under the table. He dashed into the living room and his heart broke when he saw Peter in tears.

"I-I'm sorry!" he said as he rushed over. "D-don't cry!"

Peter sniffled hard and threw himself into his arms. Raivis wrapped his arms around the younger boy with a regretful frown. He didn't think a game of hide-and-seek would go so badly. He rubbed Peter's back and tried his best to sooth his playmate.

"Peter… Please don't cry!" Raivis pleaded, his own eyes welling up.

"Waahhhh! Waa… Ah... Wahhh… Ha… H-Ha-hahaha~!" Peter changed from crying to chuckling instantaneously. He looked up and locked his arms behind Raivis' back with a sly grin. "Gotcha!"

"P-Peter?"

"You are it!" Peter chirped, wiping his tears and grinning widely.

"You c-cheated!" Raivis shouted. "You tricked me!"

"No, it's called a strategy! That jerk Arthur taught me~! Ha-ha! It's my turn to hide!"

Before Peter broke away, he tip-toed and pressed his pouty lips to Raivis' cheek. He flashed a brief grin and hurried away upstairs. Raivis sighed dejectedly for a moment. He thought about the kiss and felt his cheek flushed. He laughed it off and walked to the couch. He took a seat and closed his eyes with a deep sigh.

"Twenty… Nineteen… Eighteen…"

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *


	26. France x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This story was born lame. I am sorry. D8  
_

* * *

**"You may not love me today, tomorrow, or ever, but I will love you until it kills me, and, even then, you'll be in my heart." - Unknown**

**Pairing: France x Canada**

* * *

Matthew crossed his hands and placed them on the table. Kumajirou sat still on his laps; it didn't make a fuss like it usually did. It didn't complain or make strange comments about things. It sat quietly on its owner's laps, understanding what the somber atmosphere in the room meant.

Across the table, Francis leaned against the chair and crossed his legs. He exhaled slowly, eyes glancing at Matthew now and then, but never really looking at him. And Matthew knew that because he couldn't take his eyes off Francis. Even though his vision was blurred by the tears welling up, he kept firm eye contact. Even as Francis continued to avoid him, Matthew stared and stared.

Wondering what was so repulsive about him that made Francis not want to look at him.

And his heart just broke again and again into smaller and smaller pieces.

"Je suis désolé mais je ne peux pas t'aimer," Francis said, his eyes still averting Matthew's stare. "Tu es comme un fils à moi."

"Je sais," Matthew responded in weak French.

"Tu vais trouver un autre amour," Francis added with a soft sigh. "Tu es un garçon merveilleux."

"Stop."

"Mattieu, je sais que tu…"

"Stop!"

Matthew slammed his hands on the table. He took a sharp inhale for air, hot tears rushing down his cheeks. He shook his head and apologized quickly for his behavior. He wiped his eyes and breathed loudly through his mouth.

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled through harsh sniffles, "I'm so sorry."

"Ne pleures pas, mon cheri."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Matthew finally broke eye contact. He turned his head and gazed at the wall as he tried to calm his nerves. But no matter how many breathes he took, his lungs still felt out of air. His head ached like someone was firing rockets into his skull. His heart tightened; every beat of the vital organ sent a jolt of pain through his body. His stomach turned into knots. He felt like vomiting. He knew now how it felt to be utterly broken-hearted.

Kumajirou perked up its head; its long eyebrows frowning with sorrow. Matthew patted the bear's head and forced his eyes back to Francis. He took one last sniffle with a big heave of his shoulders. He pursed his lips together and smiled widely.

"Merci pour tout," he said, his lips quivering.

"Je t'adorerai toujours."

Francis reached across the table. But the Canadian flinched and took his hands to his laps quickly. He still smiled, forcing his muscles against their wishes. Francis nodded and pushed himself away from the table. He waited for a moment before he stepped toward the front door.

"Salut, Matthieu."

"Au revoir."

Matthew watched the door close. The sound of the click vibrated his ears like battle drums. He pulled his chin down and pressed it on top of Kumajirou's head. The bear squirmed and wiggled out of his laps. Matthew pushed his arms on the table and slumped over it. He chewed his lip and bit into his gum. His glasses chafed his cheeks and the tears stung his skin. His fingers dug into the flesh of his arms.

"I've always loved you," he whispered into the table. "Je t'aimerai toujours."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I don't ship this pairing... but it's about due time I write about them! The next chapter is connected to this story!_

_French translation: "I'm sorry but I can't love you. You are like a son to me. You'll find another love. You are a wonderful boy. Matthew, I know that you... Don't cry, my dear. I'll always adore you. Bye." _

_Matthew: "I know. Thank you for everything. Good bye. I'll always love you." 8Db  
_

_P.S. Visit my LJ for some adult-oriented stories~! ;D_


	27. America x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This story is a continuation from the last story~! Also contains incest! Oh noes! D8_

* * *

**"Love grows by giving. The love we give away is the only love we keep. The only way to retain love is to give it away." - Elbert Hubbard**

**Pairing: America x Canada**

* * *

Alfred didn't know exactly why Matthew was crying. But he did know that he was going to kill whoever it was that made him cry.

He watched Arthur try to comfort his little brother, who was so pathetically crawled up in a ball on the couch. Matthew was crying so hard that Alfred was seriously worried that he would pass out. He shifted his weight between his feet as he stood in the distance. His fingers drilled into his palms as he listed off the possible culprit.

Was it that rough Cuban? Was it goddamn Ivan?

No, it couldn't be. They could hurt Matthew physically without a doubt, but Alfred knew his brother was strong. He knew Matthew wouldn't cry over those two. So it had to be someone close to Matthew, someone whom Matthew actually cared about.

"Fucking French asshole," Alfred growled, throwing his fists in the air.

He bolted to the door, but Arthur leaped out and stopped his track.

"Get the fuck out of the way!"

"Calm down!" The English shouted. He took a breath and said, "Where are you off to?"

"I'm going to break his face."

"Don't be hasty," Arthur advised. He glanced at Matthew and continued, "I'll talk to Francis. Finds out what the deal is. You take care of Matthew."

Alfred swallowed the fire in his stomach. He huffed and turned to the couch. He sat down and put his arm over Matthew's shoulder. He nodded his head, trying to look as calm as possible, and watched Arthur leave. As soon as the door closed, he snapped to Matthew.

"What happened? What did he do to you?"

Matthew only cried into his knees. Alfred felt his heart tug. His throat went dry. An overall discomfort seized his body. He scooted closer and wrapped both arms around his brother. He rubbed Matthew's back and pressed the side of his face on his head.

"C'mon, don't cry," he hushed.

Matthew shook and unlocked his arms. The Canadian looked up, and Alfred bit his lip hard; the discomfort exploded through his nerves. He cupped his little brother's face in his hands and pulled their faces together.

"I can't stand to see you like this."

He pulled Matthew into his arms and stroked his back. His heart twisted when Matthew held onto him for dear life. Matthew shifted his head and put it on Alfred's shoulder. His crying had gone down a bit, but he was still slobbered with tears.

"Goddamn it, Matt," Alfred hissed with a deep frown, his own eyes burning up. He pressed their foreheads together and whispered, "What the hell happened?"

Matthew threw his hand over Alfred's shoulder and pulled himself close. Alfred complied and hugged Matthew even tighter and harder. He raked his fingers through Matthew's waves and sighed deeply, fighting the tears that were threatening to come out. There was a strange feeling boiling in the pit of his stomach. It hurt to see Matthew cry. But it hurt even more to know that he wasn't the one Matthew was crying over.

Matthew put his hand on Alfred's face. The brothers stared eye-to-eye. Alfred couldn't help but notice Matthew's trembling full lips and glossy violet eyes.

"You love Arthur," Matthew said in between rapid breathes. "If he leaves you, what would you do?"

"I'd get over it," Alfred answered with a shrug. He stroke Matthew's cheek and said, "Because I'd still have you."

And without thinking about it or really knowing what he was doing, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Matthew's lips. It was soft, gentle, and chaste. He tasted tears and delightful hint of maple. He pulled away quickly and met Matthew's eyes. He rubbed his fingers on Matthew's soft skin. Despite the look of confusion and embarrassment on Matthew's face, Alfred mumbled:

"You're the one I love the most in the world."

"A-Alfred… T-that's…"

"Stop crying, alright?"

Matthew shifted out of Alfred's arms. He sat up straight and subtlety scooted away. Alfred clasped his hands and held in a sigh while he mentally punched himself senseless. He stole a glance at his brother, who was fidgeting uncomfortably. Well, at least he had stopped crying.

Alfred stood up from the couch and headed toward the door. He gripped the doorknob and turned back to Matthew. Matthew glanced up once before he threw his eyes off to the floor.

"I'm going to find Francis," Alfred announced, opening the door. "By the way, Matt… I meant what I said."

He hurried out before Matthew had a chance to respond. Closing the door behind him, Alfred gritted his teeth and winced. He walked away, all the while pressing his hand over his chest, hoping it would somehow alleviate the pain.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I have fallen to the dark side. It's their fault for being so lovable together! ;___;_

_07.18.09_

_1:50 AM_


	28. Germany x Italy :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time." – Calvin and Hobbes**

**Pairing: Germany x Italy**_

* * *

_

Ludwig stirred to a rustling in the room. His instinct darted his eyes open. He reached for his gun on the nightstand but stopped when he felt a familiar warmth snuggling into his bed. He sighed and adjusted the sheets.

"What is it now?" he grumbled, running his fingers into his hair.

"I had a bad dream," the Italian responded beneath the sheets.

Ludwig stifled a frustrated sigh. Only someone like Feliciano would be afraid of nightmares at his age. He scooted over a bit and Feliciano slithered his way up to his chest. A pale hand rested over Ludwig's chest. Ludwig was about to make a complaint when he noticed that Feliciano was shaking. It wasn't a strange thing for the Italian to be shaking, but the shaking would usually stop as soon as they crawl into bed together.

But tonight, Feliciano couldn't stop trembling.

"Feliciano," Ludwig said, putting his hand on the Italian's shoulder, "what's the matter?"

"I'm scared," Feliciano whimpered. He scooted over and tucked his face into Ludwig's board chest. "I had… I had a really really bad dream."

Ludwig swallowed hard. He put his hand behind Feliciano's back and patted him gently. Feliciano clutched his tank-top and whimpered quietly.

"What happened in the dream?" Ludwig asked in a low voice, his fingers massaging the back of Feliciano's neck.

"You went away," Feliciano said.

"Hmm… That's it?"

"No," Feliciano shuddered, "you left for a long time and when you came back, you didn't remember me."

Ludwig frowned. He couldn't imagine himself ever forgetting someone like Feliciano – someone so troublesome and difficult. Feliciano looped his hands around him and looked up.

"Are you going to leave me?" Feliciano asked, his hands gripping Ludwig's top.

"H-hu… No… I won't..."

He flushed when Feliciano sprawled on top of him, briefly noticing how light the Italian was. His hands slipped to Feliciano's waist and anchored him safely. Feliciano breathed heavily into his neck. Ludwig tilted his head and found his lips near Feliciano's warm forehead.

"If you leave me…" Feliciano said, but didn't finish.

"If I do leave," Ludwig said. He thought for a moment and cleared his throat. He said, "then… then… just dream about me… coming back."

Feliciano giggled and finally showed a smile. Ludwig softened and blushed, embarrassed of his previous statement. He turned his head away as Feliciano nuzzled into his neck.

"That'll work," Feliciano said.

"Hn. Ahem, then… sleep."

"Ve~ I think I'll dream about you now."

Ludwig licked his lips and squeezed his eyes close. He listened to Feliciano's soft breathing and finally relaxed in the bed, even though Feliciano was still on top of him. He moved his hands to a more comfortable position and tried to get some rest. In his mind, he thought, it wouldn't be so bad if he were to have a little dream about Feliciano too.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Ve~ Ve~ Canon needs love too! 8Db_

_07.18.09_

_2:52 AM_


	29. America x England :3:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"After all these years, I see that I was mistaken about Eve in the beginning; it is better to live outside the Garden with her than inside it without her." - Mark Twain**

**Pairing: America x England**

* * *

Alfred gazed out the window with his hand under his chin. He watched the clouds float by, the birds sing, the butterflies dance, and everything else that was happening in the world. And still, he was bored out of his mind.

He sighed loudly and pushed himself away from the table. He grabbed his phone and checked the screen. No phone call. No text message. No email. He sighed again and put the phone down. He sprawled out over the table and tapped the wood absent-mindedly with his fingers. He drummed the Tetris theme song and clicked his tongue to the beat. The melody did nothing to ease his boredom.

He left the table and roamed about his house without purpose. He strolled to the bathroom and peeked inside, stealing a look at his reflection. He headed toward the bedroom and checked the bed. He shuffled out to the yard and stared at the basketball net. He picked up the baseball bat from the grass and gave a few practice swings. Uninterested in a work-out, he threw the bat down and went back inside the house.

He flopped on the sofa and put his legs up on the coffee table, pushing an empty soda can away while he did. He picked up the remote and surfed through the channels. He paused at the cooking channel and groaned at the making of scones. He changed to the history channel and briefly stayed for one of the many many documentaries about World War II. He moved on to the animal channel and watched lions stalk their prey. He tossed the remote next to him and groaned loudly.

Why was life without Arthur so boring?

He blew air out of his mouth and stared up at the white ceiling. He squinted at the crack and made a mental note to fix that later on. He moved his legs and lied horizontally on the sofa. He kicked his feet and bounced himself on the couch. Even that didn't make him any less bored.

He rolled over the couch and lied flat on the floor for a moment, inhaling the scent of the carpet. He made another note to get the carpet clean. He pushed himself off and went back to grab his phone off the table. He checked it: still no new messages. He looked at the date and time and sighed once again.

He took a seat and dialed Arthur's number. The line rang and rang without end. He grumbled under his breath and put his feet up on the chair.

"This means I win," Arthur answered the phone.

"Yeah, yeah, you win."

"Excellent. I told you you would call me before I would call you, ha!"

"Stop rubbing it in," Alfred growled. He palmed his forehead and said, "Come home already."

"Oh, no, I don't think so. I'm quite enjoying myself out here. The weather is nice and I don't have you bothering me."

"Arthur! You've been gone for two days!"

"I think I'll stay for the week. Kiku has a wonderful house, you know."

"Damn it, you won the bet! Just come back."

"Hmm… Let me think about it," Arthur said with a click of his tongue.

"C'mon," Alfred whined, "I miss you…"

"Is that so?" Arthur laughed. "Well, sucks to be you!"

Alfred flinched when Arthur hung up without another word. He slammed his head against the table once before he stood up. He rushed upstairs to pack his bags. If Arthur wasn't coming home, he would just have to go to him.

God knows he couldn't stand to live another minute without him.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: For some reason, Arthur sounded REALLY British in my head when I was writing this so he came off talking funny. Ah... Sorry! Cheerios~! 8Db_

_07.18.09_

_3:47 AM_


	30. Estonia x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: The 30th chapter! This calls for CRACK PAIRING TIME! 8Db_

* * *

**"You can't blame gravity for falling in love." - Albert Einstein**

**Pairing: Estonia x Canada**

* * *

Matthew couldn't stop stealing glances at the honor student seated across the study table. The library was vast and empty, but fate would have it that Eduard von Bock would choose a spot so close to him.

He took a subtle breath and drew his eyes back to his text book. But as if he could concentrate on reading when his crush was right there. He lifted his eyes off the page and slyly lifted them to Eduard's laptop. Silver and clean, he noticed, as expected from the Estonian.

He gasped and glanced away quickly when Eduard looked up. His fingers trembled slightly. He could feel Eduard's eyes on him. He slammed his book close and shoved it into his backpack with his eyes on his laps. He stood up, nearly knocking over his chair as he did. He needed to get out of here.

"Hey, wait."

Matthew froze. He clutched his backpack over his chest and pulled his head up to meet Eduard's eyes. Eduard blinked and smiled, and Matthew melted into a puddle of smiley goo.

"You are in my Physics class, aren't you?"

"Y-yes," Mathew squealed.

"Want to study together?"

Matthew's legs gave out, and he fell back down on the chair. He smiled widely to hide his embarrassment and fumbled with his glasses. He fidgeted and occupied himself with his backpack. He opened it and took out his books, then put them back in, took out his pencil case, and took out a pen, and put the pen back in, and took out his eraser, and ended up holding a ruler.

In the meantime while he was looking like a fool, Eduard picked up his laptop and sat down next to him. The Estonian smiled, dignified and poise. Matthew's lips trembled; he must look like he was rabid.

"I'm Eduard by the way," he said, extending his hand out.

"I know," Matthew whispered out of breath. He reached for the hand and his nerves exploded at the skin contact. He noticed – and was not surprised by – how firm Eduard's handshake was. In comparison, his hand was limp like a deflated balloon. "I-I am Matt… Matthew."

Eduard nodded and ended the introduction process. He put his laptop in front of them, and Matthew tossed his backpack to the floor. He stared at the screen and studied the meticulous note-taking; he didn't expect any less from the best student in class. He took out his notebook and flipped to the current date.

"You have nice handwriting," Eduard commented casually.

"Oh, ha, merci," Matthew stuttered. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice normal and low. They were in the library after all.

"Merci?" Eduard raised an eyebrow, his finger tapping the keyboard. "Are you French?"

"Canadian."

"I see. Canada's a nice place."

"Y-yes… Yes, it is."

"I'm from Est---"

"Estonia," Matthew interrupted. He gasped, surprised at himself. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned away. "Sorry."

"It's not a big deal," Eduard said with a soft laugh.

Matthew patted his cheeks to ease down the blushing while Eduard reached down to take out the textbook. He placed in front of him and turned over to Matthew. Matthew kept his eyes on the page though he couldn't register what he was reading. All he saw were black squiggly lines with Eduard's green eyes floating amongst them.

"Are you okay?" Eduard asked suddenly. "Your face is red. It is kind of stuffy in here, isn't it?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine," Matthew said, shaking his head.

"Are you sure? We can go somewhere else if you want."

Matthew stopped a squeal from escaping. Don't be silly, he told himself, Eduard wasn't indirectly asking him out. He nodded and smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

"It's fine," he chuckled, "Let's get to work."

Eduard eyed him for a moment, and Matthew had to turn his head away with a nervous chuckle. The Estonian left him alone eventually. For the next hour, they studied their lesson together. Matthew did a little studying; most of the time, he was gawking at Eduard like an idiot, thinking about how Eduard didn't have a strong body scent, and how his eyelashes are a little lighter than his hair color. Just little things that he noticed.

He broke himself away from the books and looked at the clock. He gasped at the time and reached for his backpack.

"I-I'm sorry," Matthew spoke up, "I have to go. I'm supposed to meet my brother."

"That's too bad," Eduard said, pushing his glasses up, "you are a good study partner."

"M-maybe," Matthew mumbled, "we can study… together again… sometimes…?"

"That sounds good."

"G-great! Ha, well, I… I'll see you later then."

Matthew packed his bag and headed toward the exit. He stole a glance and sighed dreamily when he caught Eduard watching him leave. He gave a casual wave, and Eduard waved back. He hugged himself and hurried out of the library with a bright smile on his face.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I think I made myself ship this pairing... xDD~_

_Shameless Plug: Check out my LJ account for some adult-oriented stories. 8D_

_07.18.09_

_7:40 PM_


	31. Denmark x Norway x Iceland

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other" - Ashleigh Brilliant**

**Pairing: Denmark x Norway x Iceland**

* * *

Iceland didn't want to go, but he came along for the sake of Norway. As he sat sternly on a hard bench and watched Norway and Denmark in the distance, he regretted his decision.

Denmark had gotten his hands on an American funnel cakes and was slobbering all over it. The white powder sugar gave him a coat of beard while the jam gave him a moustache. And Norway was there by his side, struggling to keep Denmark's appearance in check.

Iceland watched from far, fingers anxiously tapping his knee. He took a quick scan around him. Families and friends enjoyed the food and rides and each other's company. He could enjoy himself too, if his heart didn't hurt so much that he felt like vomiting. Or it could've been the fatty corndog he had had earlier. He didn't know.

He turned his eyes back to his fellow Nordics. His eyes twitched as Norway shoved a handful of napkin into Denmark's face and wiped off the excess strawberry jam. And no matter how long and hard Norway rubbed the napkin, there was still powder sugar on Denmark's face. And that stupid grin, too; nothing could make it go away.

Iceland shifted his legs and uncrossed them casually. He stifled a sigh and threw his eyes to stare at a piece of dry gum on the concrete ground.

"Try it, just try it," he heard Denmark saying.

"No," Norway answered sternly. "Get it away from me."

"Norge, try it!"

Iceland looked up just in time to see Denmark shoving the funnel cake in Norway's face. Anyone else would've laughed at the powder sugar and red jam smeared over Norway's chin. But Iceland only flinched and gritted his teeth, his fists tightening.

He wondered if he could beat the crap out of Denmark. Maybe if he attacked from behind, he could gain a lead.

He re-crossed his legs and tapped his fingers on his knees faster and harder than before. Biting his mouth, he watched Denmark lean in and lick the condiment off Norway's chin and lips. He watched Norway smack Denmark across the face and stomp away.

He took a slow breath and scooted over as Norway approached him. Norway gently wiped his mouth with a handful of napkins. Iceland watched, noticed the blush on Norway's cheeks. He looked back at Denmark, still grinning and munching on the deep-fried dough.

Disgusting.

"Not having fun?" Norway asked after a moment.

"Amusement parks aren't my thing," Iceland mumbled. And watching the love of his life with someone else was even lower on his list of enjoyable events.

"Then let's go home."

"What about him?" Iceland tossed his head toward Denmark's direction.

"Forget him," Norway said, standing up. He turned and extended a hand. "Come, Ís."

Iceland stared at the hand. He took it with some hesitation, knowing full-well that holding Norway's hand was like holding a lump of hot coal. It made him feel warm, but if he held on for too long, it burnt through his skin and flesh and left hideous scars. Still, he found himself interlacing his fingers with Norway's as they stepped away from the stone bench.

Behind them, Denmark shouted for them to wait up. Norway quickened his steps, pulling Iceland along with him. Iceland lingered, kept his pace slow, thinking it wasn't him that Norway wanted to go with. He turned his head and watched Denmark catch up. He took a step back, ready himself as Denmark reached down and knocked their hands apart. He stared at his gloved hand, while Denmark fought to hold Norway's.

"Let go of my hand," Norway hissed, thrusting his arm.

Iceland stood on the sideline and looked at Denmark and Norway's locked hands.

He wanted to say, "Norge, you are the one holding _his_ hand."

But he stayed silent and watched the all-too familiar scene. His hands tucked into the pocket of his jackets, and he waited.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I'm sorry, Iceland! ;A; In my mind, I see him as the quiet but overprotective little brother who doesn't think Denmark is good enough for Norway. =v=;;  
_

_Anyways! I have a lot of fun writing these, mostly because of all of your support! Thank you! Yosh! 8Db_

_07.18.09_

_11:16 PM_


	32. Russia x China & Allies Force

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This chapter contains strong language and violence!_

* * *

**"To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go." - Mary Oliver**

**Pairing: Russia x China + Allies Force**

* * *

Arthur was the one who saw Yao falling down first. After all, it was hard to miss the barrage of bullets showered next to him and the splatter of blood that followed. He was lucky, he thought, that he was running behind Yao; or else, it would have been him that was dropping to the ground.

He pulled back immediately as soon as he saw Yao shot down. Francis pressed on by his left – what a big surprise; probably because he hadn't realized one of his allies was down. Alfred was leading the charge; his full attention focused on pushing back the Axis.

Only he stopped to rush to Yao's side.

He threw his gun over his shoulder and knelt in the dirt. Years of field experience and common sense told him they were in deep trouble. He did a quick counts: Yao was shot at least six times, and that was just what he could see from the outside. And from the fact that Yao wasn't even crying in pain but appeared to be completely lifeless, he knew luck wasn't on the Asian's side. He reached down with a shaky hand and checked the pulse. Thankfully, Yao was alive, but just barely.

He took a look at the battlefield, hoping the others had noticed the casualty and decided to pull back. But Alfred and Francis kept on pressing back their enemies – oblivious of Yao's predication.

As for Ivan, Arthur felt his presence behind him. He turned his head and looked up at Ivan's violet eyes staring down at him. He ran through in his head the right words and the right way to say it; it would be best to keep the Russian calm. But before he could formulate his thought, he was shoved into the ground.

He pulled his legs back and crouched on one knee. Ivan drove his knees into the dirt; his hands trembled as he reached toward Yao's body.

"He's alive," Arthur said.

But Ivan didn't hear him. He scooped Yao into his arms and sounded the longest and loudest wail Arthur had ever heard. Arthur winced, physically feeling Ivan's heartbreak.

"Yao," Ivan called, running his fingers through his lover's hair, "Yao... Yao..."

"Ivan, he's alive," Arthur repeated again. "We need to get him out of here."

"Yao, Yao... No, no, no, Yao. No, no, you can't. You can't."

Ivan buried his face into the crane of Yao's neck; his hands tugged at the black hair, dirty by the ground. Arthur watched the scene, biting his lip. The longer they dilly-dally, the more danger they were putting Yao in. But he knew his words weren't reaching through Ivan's ears. He could hardly imagine the terrible thoughts that were running through the Russian's mind. God knows if it was Alfred lying there, he wouldn't know how to behave either.

He leaned forward and put his hand on Ivan's shaking shoulder. The Russian sobbed, crying Yao's name over and over again.

"Give him to me," Arthur said, thinking that he was the better choice to handle Yao's injured body.

But Ivan took it the wrong way. He slapped Arthur's hand off his shoulder. Arthur pulled back quickly. The deadly stare alone told him he didn't stand a chance. Now, they were in bigger trouble. Ivan squeezed Yao's body tightly and pressed his face into his chest, soaked with blood.

"Don't," Ivan whispered through tears, "don't leave me..."

"What's happening?" Francis spoke quickly as he rushed over. When he saw the sight, he gasped and wrinkled his brows. "Mon Dieu... Is he..."

"No," Arthur said firmly, "but he'll be soon if we don't get him taken care of."

"Yao, open your eyes," Ivan cooed with a demented smile, caressing Yao's cheek. "Open them for me."

"What are we waiting for?" Francis asked as he stepped forward.

Arthur took the opportunity to scan the battlefield, keeping his eyes out for Alfred. The smoke made it difficult for him to locate the American. He squinted, centering on a figure that resembled Alfred. He snapped his head back when Ivan shouted.

"Don't touch him!"

He gasped at the gun pointed at Francis' head. Ivan's eyes, glossed with tears, widened with madness and grief. Francis kept his hands in the air and slowly stepped back.

"Mon cheri, I'm trying to help," Francis said softly.

"He is losing a lot of blood," Arthur said to Ivan, "he... he won't make it if we don't..."

And it was then that Arthur realized something: in Ivan's mind, Yao was already dead. It was the reason why the Russian refused to let anyone near him. He lowered his head; it was natural for people to assume the worst in a time of distress. He watched Ivan sit down on the ground and cradle Yao in his arms. Rocking back and forth, Ivan whispered soft words to an unresponsive Yao.

"Ivan," he said as calmly as he could muster, "You need to let go. Give Yao to me. I'll take him to the hospital."

"It's okay," Ivan whispered, kissing Yao on the forehead. "It's okay. I'll protect you. I'll protect you. You just rest... Sleep... Sleep..."

"It's no use," Francis said to him, gripping his fists. "He... He doesn't understand."

Arthur looked up at his French nemesis. He nodded his head and stood up next to him. Ivan scooped his arm under Yao and hugged him close. Arthur could see that with each motion Ivan did, it was making Yao's condition worse. The ground was already drinking up a puddle of blood.

"I need you to grab him. Keep him occupied. I'll take Yao in the meantime."

"Que? Why don't you take him down and I take Yao to safety?" Francis grumbled. Nonetheless, he nodded his head and stalked up behind the sobbing Russian.

"No one can take you away," Ivan said into Yao's lips, "we'll be together forever."

"Now!"

Arthur rushed forward as Francis tackled Ivan from behind. The plan didn't work as well as they had hoped. Ivan's statue simply didn't allow Francis to do much. The Russian shrieked as Francis locked his arm around his neck; choke him if he must. Arthur stumbled in front of them and grabbed Yao by the arm.

Ivan didn't like it at all.

"Don't touch him!" Ivan shouted. He kicked Arthur in the stomach and elbowed Francis in the face. His sheer strength – amplified by his grief – made him stronger than Arthur and Francis could handle.

Arthur rolled to the ground, holding his aching stomach. In the struggle, Yao had fallen out of Ivan's arms. He looked at Yao sprawled out face-down on the ground, not moving an centimeter. He groaned, his heart pounding with fear. Regardless of how he felt about Yao, they had a long history together and they were allies in the war. He wasn't going to let him die.

He bore the pain and crawled toward Yao. At the same time, Francis was toppled to the ground with a heavy stomp from Ivan. He gasped at the sharp cry of pain from the French; he hadn't expected Ivan to attack his allies. He hurried toward Yao and pulled the unconscious man into his arms. He checked the pulse and let out a sigh of relief that Yao was – thank the Queen – still breathing.

But he couldn't brace himself for the sudden punch thrown at him. He slammed to the ground, pulling Yao down with him. Ivan had completely lost it. He spit out a bit of blood and cursed under his breath. He tucked in his arms and legs to block a harsh kick from Ivan. He hissed at the pain, his eyes briefly darted to Francis lying in a similar condition.

He rolled over on his stomach and panted heavily. Yao was lying flat on the ground; dots of blood around him like confetti. How ironic that their struggle to save him was causing him to fade faster. He gritted his teeth as he watched Ivan saddle Yao. For a moment, the Russian simply stroked his lover's cheek with a bloody hand. Then, he scooted down and lay on top of him.

Arthur's eyes widened. Did Ivan not realize that his body weight could push the bullets deeper in? Not to mention cause more damages to Yao's organs.

"You're killing him!" he shouted.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Arthur turned his head to see Alfred coming up to his side. If there was anyone who could take down Ivan, it would be Alfred.

"Yao is wounded," he said quickly, "he needs treatment but Ivan won't let us get near him."

Alfred gripped his semi-automatic. Arthur got on his knees and took a deep breath; blood still lingered in his mouth. They stayed still for a moment and watched Ivan alternate between crying and smiling at Yao.

"We'll see each other again soon," Ivan said. "Very soon..."

"Alright," Alfred said, cocking his gun. "I'll deal with him. You get Yao out of here."

"Alfred," Arthur called. He hesitated for a moment as he stood up, holding his hand over his stomach. "Don't hurt him. He is just worried."

Alfred tilted his head with a huff, lifting his gun. Arthur staggered over to Francis and helped him up. They needed to work together to save Yao.

"Francis, you're my back-up."

Alfred gestured for them to get into position. Arthur followed behind, taking the time to refill his lungs with air. Francis wiped his chin and spit out the dirt in his mouth.

"We'll go somewhere warm," Ivan whispered, "wait for me..."

Alfred ran toward Ivan. He gripped Ivan by the shoulders and forcefully pried the Russian off.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Arthur and Francis followed suit. Francis threw himself in front of Ivan and sandwiched him in between. Arthur crawled down and slipped his arms under Yao. He scanned the wounds and bit his lips at the severity. The blood wasn't warm anymore, which could mean that Yao's heart had stopped making fresh blood.

"No! NO! Give him back! Give him back!" Ivan shrieked, thrusting his arms and legs. "Don't take him away... Please... Don't take him from me..."

"Go, Arthur, go!" Alfred shouted.

"Yao! Yao!" the Russian wailed, his fingers reaching out as he fought against his allies. "No! Give him back to me! He's mine! He's mine!"

Arthur carried Yao off. He took a look and watched Alfred tackle Ivan to the ground. It took both of them to keep him down. He saw the pained look on Ivan's face and his heart sank. For all of their sake, he couldn't let Yao die. Only now did he realize what a grave responsibility he had been given.

He looked down at Yao, eyes half-opened and lips parted. His throat went dry and his chest tightened. He picked up his pace and ran as fast as his legs would allow him to. He needed to hurry.

Yao's body was getting cold, and the life in his eyes was already fading.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: If Yao dies, Ivan will be very sad. ;A;_

_My spell-checker didn't work for some reason, so please excuse any spelling mistake I didn't catch.. .___.;;_

_07.19.09_

_5:46 AM _

_.. Why am I still up?_


	33. Cuba x Canada & America

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"Tell me whom you love and I will tell you who you are." - Houssaye**

**Pairing: Cuba x Canada + America**

* * *

Cuba wasn't used to wearing a dress shirt and slacks. He straightened out the wrinkles on his shirt as he walked toward the park. As he drew closer, the nervousness in his heart increased. He swallowed hard, gripping the bouquet of roses in his hand. He had no idea if Matthew even liked roses or if it was right to bring another man flowers. But he figured, hey, he couldn't go wrong with roses. And he knew Matthew would accept them regardless.

He sighed contently. How blessed was he that he was actually going on a date with the Canadian. After so many months of endless anguish, he finally had the courage to ask the question. Oh how his heart soared when Matthew nodded with a smile and said yes in his sweet voice.

He swallowed hard when he spotted the blonde sitting on the bench. It looked like Matthew was just wearing his usual red pullover. Cuba felt a bit overdressed but shrugged it off; he loved that Matthew wanted to keep the date casual and simple.

As he approached, his heartbeats raced. He wiped his palms on his slacks and took multiple deep breathes. Still, he felt lightheaded and his normally-strong knees buckled under his weight.

There he was: beautiful, delicate, soft, kindhearted, lovely Matthew Williams, glowing like an angel descended from Heaven. Thank you merciful God, thank you for such a perfect creation.

He walked next to the bench and held out the roses. Lips quivering, he said, "Hol------y fuck…"

The 'Matthew' he was waiting for turned out to be his brother in disguise.

"Alfred F. Jones!" Cuba shrieked, shaking his finger at him.

"Damn straight!" the American shouted, jumping on the bench and standing dramatically. He took off Matthew's red pullover and revealed himself.

"W-where is Matthew?!"

"You!" Alfred pointed as he sneered down. "Stay away from him! He is mine!"

"Tch," Cuba scoffed. "Matthew doesn't belong to you."

"Oh yes, he does!" Alfred fumbled into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and threw it in Cuba's face.

Cuba caught the paper. It was a note, written in Matthew's neat handwriting.

_I, Matthew Williams, belong solely to my brother, Alfred F. Jones._

_Forever and forever until the sun goes out._

_And even then, I would still belong to him._

_Because he is awesome._

_And a hero._

_And I am his. Forever and forever and forever + 1._

"See?" Alfred laughed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You forced him to write this," Cuba said, crumbling the note.

Alfred leaped down on the bench and stalked up to Cuba's face. He narrowed his eyes and put on his mean face. Cuba growled, pushing back his space. They stared at each other, eyes burning with rage.

"Go back to Mexico," Alfred hissed, poking Cuba in the shoulder.

Cuba grabbed Alfred's fingers and twisted them. Alfred yelped in pain and threw a punch in Cuba's face. The larger man stumbled back to dodge the punch, dropping the roses out of his hand as he did. He gasped at the flowers. Before he could reach down to pick them up, Alfred stomped and crushed them under his foot.

"Those were for Matthew," Cuba growled.

"Matt doesn't want your roses," Alfred smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, amigo, you wanna go?"

Cuba loosened up his shirt. Normally, for Matthew's sake, he would back down from fighting with his American brother. But for the sake of his heart, for his love, for Matthew's love, he was ready to beat the living daylight out of Alfred F. Jones.

He rolled up his sleeves and took a deep breath. He launched toward Alfred, just as the other one came toward him. But before his hit could land, Cuba pulled back. He groaned at himself and got out of the way of Alfred's punch.

"What's the matter?" Alfred teased. "You know you can't win?"

Cuba swallowed his pride. He side-stepped Alfred and walked toward the pullover on the ground. He picked it up and dusted off the dirt. It was Matthew's clothes after all. He held the sweater over his chest and turned to Alfred.

"Don't get cocky," Cuba said. "I'm not kicking your ass because Matthew would be sad to see you in a bloody pulp."

"I'd like to see you try!" Alfred shouted, shaking his fist.

"You can't keep him away from me." Cuba folded up the sweater. He stared at Alfred and said, "Sooner or later, you'll have to come to accept that Matthew is his own man and he makes his own choices. And you, you're just a pathetic burden on him."

"H-Hey!" Alfred growled, puffing his cheeks.

"Adios," Cuba said with a casual wave. He strolled away from the bench, his hand reaching into his front pocket for a cigar.

"Matthew is mine!" Alfred shouted behind him. "He is mineeeee!"

"We'll see," Cuba mumbled with the cigar in between his teeth. "We'll see."

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I love dorky, overprotective Alfred. 8D~_

_07.19.09_

_3:45 PM_


	34. England x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others." - Oscar Wilde**

**Pairing: England x Canada**

* * *

There are many things about Matthew that Arthur loves.

He loves Matthew's soft statue, not too skinny and not too heavy. He loves how he can put his arms around Matthew's waist and it is just the exact width. He loves running his fingers through the tangle-less waves; golden on top and orange at the bottom. He loves Matthew's eyes – violet orbs that gaze into his soul. He loves Matthew's bright smile that ease away all his troubles.

He loves their first kiss. It was sudden and unexpected, but felt so right as he pinned the younger one against the wall in the laundry room. He loves the taste of Matthew's lips. He loves the taste of his skin. It's as if Matthew is drenched entirely in sweet syrup made perfect for his tongue.

He loves that they didn't plan to get together but ended up together, like fate has long decided that they were made for each other. He loves that they live like they have always lived together.

He loves how Matthew always smiles after a kiss – like a kiss is the only thing he needs to be happy. He loves it when Matthew blushes. He loves caressing the smooth cheek. He loves kissing it throughout the day and how it makes Matthew giggle with delight.

He loves that the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he sees at night is Matthew's face. He loves the way Matthew whispers 'good morning' and 'good night' in his ear. He loves holding Matthew against him as they sleep. He loves the warmth and comfort from his body.

He loves that they don't ever fight. They compromise and discuss their issues. He loves Matthew's temper and his understanding. He loves how they can laugh about things and nothing is ever awkward between them.

He loves that Matthew does the chores with a willing heart. He loves that after a long day, Matthew will come to his side and listen to him talk about the weary of life. He loves that Matthew can tell when he is bothered or upset. He loves that he doesn't push him to say those things; he only holds his hand and lets him know that he is ready to share his burdens.

He loves it when Matthew speaks French in his Canadian accent; French sounds less nauseating when Matthew speaks it. He loves Matthew's soft voice – like the song of angels. He loves that after centuries, Matthew still hasn't forgotten his British (and French) heritage. He loves that Matthew appreciates his cooking and eats it with a smile. He loves that Matthew gives constructive advices on how to cook better. He loves that Matthew shrugs his shoulders and says it really doesn't matter; he would eat anything he cooks.

He loves that Matthew still says 'thank you' after every little thing he does for him. He loves that, every now and then, Matthew will slip out a 'Sir' when speaking to him. He loves Matthew's manner. He loves that Matthew doesn't become a different person in and out of the house. He loves that Matthew is Matthew regardless of where or whom they are with.

He loves looking down at Matthew in bed. He loves watching him squirm and pant his name during their love-making. He loves the sound their bodies make together. He loves how Matthew locks his arms behind his neck and pulls him in. He loves the way Matthew looks at him – like he is the only person that matters in this godforsaken world. Like he is God himself.

He loves that – oh God save him – he loves that Matthew knows to serve him tea and not the atrocious vomit they called coffee.

He loves that he can see himself spending the rest of his life with Matthew, holding him in his arms. He loves how wonderful the picture looks in his mind. He loves that Matthew agrees too.

He loves how it hurts when they have to be apart for a while – even if it is just for a few hours. He loves knowing that Matthew will always come back to him.

He loves Matthew shyly telling him 'I love you'. He loves that after all these years, it still makes his heart flutter when he hears those words. He loves that Matthew means it when he says he'll love him forever.

He loves that 'forever' doesn't seem so far-fetched when he is with Matthew. That 'forever' may very well be the perfect word to describe their relationship.

All these things – so many things – he loves about Matthew. But he doesn't love Matthew.

At least not in the way he loves Alfred.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Aiyah~! I'm a jerk for tormenting my favorite Matthew! ;A; I guess it's true when they say you always hurt the one you love! Someday, I'll write a happy story for Matthew! 8D_

_P.S. If there is a quote that you especially like, please share it with me! I'm kind of running out of resources. "OTL  
_

_07.19.09_

_5:35 PM_


	35. Korea x China

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This story contains violence and imperialist!Japan. D8_

* * *

**"That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil." - Friedrich Nietzsche**

**Pairing: Korea x China**

* * *

There were many things in life that Yong Soo didn't dare to claim he understood. He knew he was only a speck in the timeline of history and he accepted such fate. He had a loving family and friends that he adored. His life, Yong Soo had always thought, was excellent and he couldn't ask for more.

So it came as a hurtful surprise when Kiku suddenly turned on them. Surely, they had bickered and fought before. But he knew something was different now. Something within the core of Kiku's being had been contaminated.

To think a man that he saw as his own brother – even though they shared different blood – would attack him. Yong Soo didn't know what to make of it. Only that his heart hurt.

He hurried down the street with his eyes forward. Forward, it was the only place he could look. If he looked anywhere else, he couldn't be able to move his legs. His home – ravaged by war. Blood colored the walls. Bodies littered the ground. Anguished cries rose from near and far.

His home – destroyed.

He threw a hand over his nose and tried not to breathe in the stench of rotting flesh. His feet pulled him along the way; his military boots didn't fit him quite well and the hard leather blistered his toes. He turned the corner and ran to the main street. Behind him, the shout of the enemies drew closer. They were after him – _ordered_ to come after him.

Why, Kiku?

Yong Soo tripped over someone's leg and nearly fell to the ground. He took a sharp breath and turned his eyes. They were catching up to him. Their guns lifted high, ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

He turned his attention back to in front of him. He gasped at the fire reflected off the blade of the smooth katana.

"Kiku!"

His brother stared without a sound. His hands gripped the hilt of the sword and positioned it over his face. Yong Soo stumbled back, breathing through clenched teeth. He heard the sounds of gun behind him and knew, without looking, they were loaded and aimed at his back.

He reached for his gun holster, though doubtful he could do much with it. His fingers touched the cold metal of the handgun. He gripped it. And in the moment he used to pull it out, the katana was already underneath his chin.

Yong Soo couldn't even gasp. The sword was so close; he could smell the steel and the blood on it. Kiku glanced up at him; his fingers moved. The evening light shone off the blade.

"Kiku! Yong Soo!"

They both looked. Yao's lone figure hardly counted for reinforcement, but Yong Soo felt a rush of relief through his tense body. Kiku turned the katana swiftly and used it block the jian slashing down on him.

Yong Soo stepped back, hand gripping the gun by his side. He watched his brothers' sword fight. Each was graceful with his weapon. It could almost pass for a choreographed dance. Until blood was spilled.

Yao dropped to his knees with his hand palming his arm, hot blood sweeping through the gaps of his fingers. He gritted his teeth in pain.

Kiku walked over and knocked his sword away with a kick. The katana turned to the oldest.

"Aniki!"

"Yong Soo, you idiot!" Yao shouted through pants. "What are you doing!? RUN!"

Yong Soo did run. But he ran toward Kiku. His legs dashed forward as he raced against the katana drawing to Yao's neck.

He leaped and managed to grab Kiku by the waist and pulled him off-course. Instead of Yao's neck, the tip of the blade left a slit on Yao's cheek. Yong Soo fell to the ground, but Kiku didn't. Yong Soo crawled forward and wrapped both arms around Kiku's leg.

"Idiot!" Yao shouted at him.

"Aniki! Go!"

Yao turned his eyes on him. A mixed look of surprise and shock touched his face. Kiku struggled against his hold, thrusting his leg.

"Yong Soo… N-no!"

"It's okay, Aniki," Yong Soo managed a soft laugh. He held in a cry of pain when Kiku slashed his shoulder. "D-don't worry… about me! Just go!"

Yao made a move toward his sword. Kiku barked an order and his troops pointed their guns at Yao. Yong Soo clutched on to Kiku's leg tighter. The three brothers stayed still for a moment – each contemplating his next move.

Kiku raised his sword high – a gesture to signal his soldiers. Yong Soo knew that the second Kiku moved his sword again, a barrage of bullets would rip through Yao's body.

"Aniki," he cried out, "please run!"

The katana remained in its position. Yao stood up. They exchanged eye contact. Yong Soo pasted a grin on his face. Yao twisted his expression, eyes welling up with tears. The oldest of the three turned on his heels and fled quickly from the scene.

Kiku swung his sword. The rapid gunshots sounded like firecrackers exploding. Yong Soo released his arms and slumped on the ground, relieved that his dearest brother had gotten to safety. He glanced up and met Kiku's stone-cold eyes.

He bit the inside of his lips and scoffed. He got on his knees and took a breath. With all his strength, he pushed himself on his feet. He tightened his muscles and stared at his brother --- no, his enemy.

_I love you, Aniki._

Yong Soo ran toward Kiku. Kiku paced back in preparation; the katana ready to strike. Yong Soo lifted his fist; he swallowed the pain from the wound on his shoulder. Kiku twisted the sword. He threw his punch. Kiku dodged it. The blade flowed effortlessly to his neck.

_I'd die for you, Aniki._

He blinked and felt himself falling backward. Spots of crimson danced in front of him like fireflies. He hit the ground with a thump. A quiet gasp escaped from his throat. He stole a breath and tasted blood in his mouth.

He looked up. Kiku's eyes stared down at him. Both hands on the hilt, the katana hurtled toward his chest.

_I will die for you._

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I would fight for you~ I'd lie for you~ Walk the wire for you - yeah, I'd die for you~!_

_That song, oddly, fits Yong Soo so well. .____.;;_

_Gah! I love you, Yong Soo! ;A;  
_

_07.20.09_

_4:45 PM_


	36. Korea x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This story contains textspeak. Sorry! D8_

* * *

**"You know you're in love when you can't sleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." - Dr. Seuss**

**Pairing: Korea x Canada**

* * *

It isn't unusual for Yong Soo to not sleep at the night anymore. He sits cross-legged on the bed and flips through his phone. He scrolls to the message box and searches the long list. Starting from the very first one he finds, he reads through all the text messages between him and Matthew still saved in his phone.

Some of them are simple and mundane, like "im comin over" and "I'll be there in half an hour". Others are a bit more personal and sentimental, like "tks 4 cheering me up" and a sweet "You're always welcome! =)"

He shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He sighs and licks his lips when he reaches the last message that he sent out to Matthew. The text took months of preparation and courage to type. He checks the time at the corner of message; it has already been four hours since he sent it.

"I like you" the message said.

And Matthew still hasn't responded yet. Maybe, he thinks, maybe Matthew lost his phone somewhere. Or maybe the battery is dead. Or maybe Matthew broke his fingers and can't type. Maybe he is off fighting demonic seals and can't answer at the moment.

Or maybe he just doesn't feel the same way and is thinking hard about how to reject him in the least hurtful way. That certainly sounds like something the Canadian would do.

Yong Soo scoots down and lies on his back. He stares up at the ceiling and holds the phone over his chest. If he wasn't so afraid of getting rejected, he would've called or told Matthew in person. But alas, he fears his heart can't take if Matthew does reject him. So he hides behind technology and hopes Matthew will think the best of him.

"Ughhh-Ahhhh!" he screams, frustrated. Technology can be so unreliable.

He flops over on his stomach and stares at his phone, gripping it hard with both hands. He softens at the blank screen and lowers his eyes.

"Come on, Matt," he mumbles, "at least give me an answer…"

He presses the side of his face into his pillow and sighs. It's drawing close to midnight already. For Matthew, it's still day time. He closes his eyes and slows down his breathing. If he sleeps, his answer may come sooner.

But as if he can sleep with such a thing hanging over his head.

He clutches his phone and pulls it toward his chest, hoping through some magical way, Matthew can feel the anxiousness in his heart and give him a response quickly.

His fingers dance over the screen. It lights up under his touch. He blinks at the small tremor vibrating his bed. He glances down and sees a name flashing on the screen---Matthew's name.

He sits up quickly and grabs the phone. He holds it with both hands and stares widely at the screen. He takes a very deep breath and presses the green answer button.

"Yeobosaeyo," he greets quietly.

"Hi," Matthew says on the other end. "D-did I wake you?"

"No, no. I was, um, I was just… waiting."

"I just woke up," Matthew laughed nervously.

"Ha~! So you finally took my advice and slept in," Yong Soo chuckles.

Matthew laughs on the other end. Yong Soo shifts his legs and breathes heavily. They are both silent for a moment. Yong Soo fiddles with the hem of his boxers and stares at his feet. He can hear Matthew's quiet breathing and little noises that his mouth is making.

"I…" Matthew mutters, "I… got your message."

Yong Soo's heart stops beating. He bites his lip and suddenly doesn't want to hear the answer he has been waiting for. He swallows and grips his boxers. Matthew stays silent on the other line. Yong Soo clears his throat.

"S-so…"

"O-oh. I…"

There is a long pause on both ends.

"Je t'aime aussi," Matthew whispers.

"W-what?" Yong Soo frowns.

"Je t'aime aussi," he repeats.

"H-h… I-I don't know French," Yong Soo whines, tugging at his boxers.

Matthew snickers. Yong Soo scratches his chin. Matthew sure has a weird way of rejecting him. He drops his head and breathes through clenched teeth. He should've expected it. Why would someone like Matthew want to be with him?

"Look it up," Matthew says. "I have to go… Alfred wants something. We'll talk later?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, okay!"

Yong Soo tosses the phone on the bed and palms his face. He bites his lip and laughs at himself. He rubs his eyes and stares at his phone again. He thinks back to what Matthew says and even though he doesn't want to, he grabs his phone back in his hands. He scrolls through his contact list and looks up Francis's number.

"wut does ji tame o see means?" he texts.

He stares at the screen and waits. And waits… and waits. After about five minutes or so, a response comes back.

"It took me forever to figure out what you mean. ):

I'm assuming you mean je t'aime aussi, which means I love you too."

Yong Soo blinks. He squeezes his eyes really tight and opens them really wide.

"u sure?"

"Yes!!

Who said it to you? ;)"

Yong Soo leaps from his bed and bounces like an excited child. He clutches the phone to his chest and presses it hard against his body.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" he whoops, throwing his arms up and dropping his phone somewhere in the process. "YES! YES!"

He falls sideway on his bed and pulls his arms and legs in. With a wide grin, he holds himself and laughs loudly. He crawls over and finds his phone on the floor. He holds it next to ear and waits for Matthew to pick up his call.

There is no way he is going to sleep tonight. No way.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Green eggs and ham originated from Korea! 8Db~ I was just realizing the other day that in Korea's profile, it says he likes Canada. Probably one of my top choice pairing for Mattie. ;D_

_Yong Soo's Korean phrase, I found on the Internet. If it's wrong, I am sorry. .___.;;  
_

_07.20.09_

_9:52 PM_


	37. Korea x Hong Kong

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you." – Roy Croft**

**Pairing: Korea x Hong Kong**

* * *

"You know," Yong Soo said, pushing his face up close to Hong Kong, "if you pull your hair back, you'd kind of look like Aniki!"

Hong Kong stared at him dully without offering a verbal or emotional response. Yong Soo reached over and played with Hong Kong's bangs. The younger Chinese tilted his head out of the way, but the Korean persisted. He scooped his hand under the side bang and pushed it back to expose Hong Kong's forehead.

"Mansae! I was right!" Yong Soo grinned. He bit his lip and studied Hong Kong's brow. "We can probably pluck those…! Aniki doesn't have thick brows like you do."

Hong Kong leaned away and casually knocked Yong Soo's hand off his head. He turned his eyes back to the book he was reading.

"I'm not my brother," he said, almost resentfully.

"I didn't say you were," Yong Soo rebutted. "I just think you two look alike!"

Yong Soo put his head on the table, resting the side of his face over his arm. He scrutinized Hong Kong's facial feature. Similar to Yao definitely, but not quite exactly the same. For one, Hong Kong looked more masculine than Yao did. His eyes were smaller and almond-shaped, whereas Yao had rounder eyes. Hong Kong's eyes were also darker in intensity. The color was different too. Yong Soo frowned as he gazed into the sepia eyes.

Hong Kong looked up and returned a brief gaze. Yong Soo grinned and stuck his tongue out. Hong Kong resumed his reading while Yong Soo continued to watch him. His eyes drew to Hong Kong's lips. Yao had fuller lips, he noticed. Hong Kong's lips were thin and less pouty, but had a better and brighter color.

Yong Soo pushed himself up and scooted close to Hong Kong's face. The other one ignored the proximity and kept his eyes on the book.

"Hey, let me try something," Yong Soo said.

Before Hong Kong responded, he cupped Hong Kong's jaw and pulled their lips together. He pressed forward, parting his lips slightly to sandwich Hong Kong's lower lip. He left a moist kiss and lingered for a moment before he pulled away.

He grinned and laughed at Hong Kong's stoned expression. He had never seen the other boy blush before! Hong Kong groaned and turned his head away, wiping his mouth with his big sleeve.

"What was that?" Hong Kong muttered quietly, cheeks still flushed.

"I thought kissing you would kind of be like kissing Aniki," Yong Soo snickered. "But I was wrong!"

Hong Kong closed his book and stared him without a change in his expression, only his cheeks told of his embarrassment. Yong Soo propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his palm. He grinned widely at Hong Kong.

"Don't do it again," Hong Kong warned with a sigh. "And I'm _not_ Yao."

Hong Kong pushed away from the table and left the room with anger in his steps. Yong Soo snickered to himself and watched him leave. After Hong Kong left, he sighed and slumped over the table. Amazed and exhausted, he couldn't believe his plan to kiss Hong Kong actually worked. All his planning actually paid off! He smiled to himself and touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of Hong Kong's lips on them.

Only Hong Kong could make him use brain cells to plot a scheme. Only Hong Kong could make his heart leap all over the place – not even Yao could do that. Only Hong Kong could make him want to be a better person _and_ actually do something toward it.

The kiss would last him for a while. But next time, he thought, he would have the nerves to ask for it without using excuses. Certainly he knew Hong Kong was not Yao.

Hong Kong was better.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: My second favorite Korea pairing. =v=;;_

_Someone mentioned to me that not all of these stories have happy endings, hence the collection title is misleading. xDD~ To which I can only respond... the endings could've been worse, da? o.o;;_

_Anyways~ It comes a song titled "Short Stories with Tragic Endings" - that's why. 8Db  
_

_07.21.09_

_12:47 AM_


	38. England x China

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: Violence and mature themes, yo! D8_

* * *

**"Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love." - Kahlil Gibran**

**Pairing: England x China**

* * *

Arthur stared down at his snoring ally. Yao sprawled ungraciously on the couch. One hand rested over his stomach while the other one gripped his uniform. One leg dangled over the armrest and the other fell to the ground. His head turned outward with his mouth open, and a bit of drool seeping out the corner.

Arthur snickered with disdain. How unsightly. Yao should be grateful that Hong Kong was under his care so he could teach the young boy how to become a gentleman. There was no way he could let the boy turn out like his brother.

He shuffled over to the table and put down the tea cup and the saucer. He walked toward to the counter and searched for his teabags. He scoffed at the cans of instant coffee and was tempted to dump them in the sink. He took them down and stared at them in his hands. A sinister grin plastered his face as he popped open the lid.

"N-no…"

Arthur turned, startled. He watched Yao toss his head and whine softly. He put down the cans and strolled over to the couch.

"Y-Yong Soo…" Yao mumbled anxiously, his hand gripping his shirt. "Y-Yong Soo…"

Arthur crouched next to him with a concerned frown. He put his hand on Yao's shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge.

"Hey, wake up," he said, "you're having a nightmare."

"No… no…" Yao gritted his teeth, his head tossed toward Arthur's direction.

Arthur gave a harder nudge. He deepened his frown and reached up to wipe away a lone tear. He didn't have to wonder what was plaguing Yao's sleep. He could feel it in his nerves. After all, he was someone's brother too.

He exhaled deeply in relief when Yao stopped sleep-talking though he remained asleep. He could only hope that his ally was having a more pleasant dream now.

He stayed watch for a moment. Yao turned his head slowly and faced the back of the couch. Arthur gasped when he saw a mark on Yao's neck. He looked away quickly, but his conscience forced him to turn his eyes back. He recognized the scar; he was the one who made it.

Choking Yao with his bare hand, forcing and demanding his submission. His fingernails drove deep into the cream-like skin, pried them open and drew blood. He remembered the feel of Yao's blood on his hand; hot, like fire dancing through his fingers. He didn't think then that it would leave a permanent mark – an eternal reminder of their long and bloody history.

He had done some very terrible things to Yao, hadn't he. Invading his land and smuggling drugs to his people. Forcing him into humiliating treaties. Snatching his baby brother away. All not very gentlemanly.

And there were other things that he had done.

He could remember his hands touching Yao's body, his lips leaving moist kisses on the skin. The scent of opium embedded in the sheets and pillows. Yao's voice crying his name, fingers pulling his hair. Moans of pain and pleasure. Their bodies moving with and against each other. The love and the hate that blinded them. The feel of their skin, drenched in sweat, as they lay next to and on top of each other. The temporal comfort and the subsequent discomfort. Yao's tears, he could remember how they tasted on his tongue.

He was proud of his prowess then. But seeing Yao right now, he didn't feel very proud of his past victories.

In fact, he thought he might actually feel kind of bad.

He cleared his throat and blinked away. Alas, there was no use in lingering in the past. They had different problems to deal with now.

He shifted his weight between his feet and took a good look at Yao. The years of conflicts with Kiku were evident on his face. Still, he thought Yao hadn't aged much since they first met. A weaker being would've long perished under the turmoil that Yao struggled through. But Yao still stood before him today, strong and ready with room to grow.

And for that, Arthur admired his spirit and will.

He reached and took Yao's hand with both of his. Yao's hand felt the same as decades before – soft and smooth. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss down.

Yao opened his eyes and gazed at his surroundings. Arthur looked over, lips still pressed to the hard knuckles.

Green eyes met caramel ones.

Arthur released Yao's hand and stood up. He walked back over to the counter and picked up the coffee can. He put it upside down in the sink and dusted his hands. He took his cup and saucer and gave one final look at Yao, whose eyes dazedly followed his moment. Neither said a word.

He looked away and left the break room.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: I saw this quote and just had to snatch it~! 8Db_

_This is pretty much how I view the England x China pairing. o.o;;  
_

_The Cold War started because Alfred and Ivan found out that Arthur and Yao did the naughty and they weren't amused~! Kukuku~ Or at least, that's one crack way of looking at it!_

_07.21.09_

_2:13 AM_


	39. Lithuania x Poland

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"You talk too much, you laugh too loud, that's the price of love." – Brian Ferry**

**Pairing: Lithuania x Poland**

* * *

"Ah ha~ Ha~ Ha~ Ha~ Ha~!"

Toris sighed and turned his head away from the book he was reading. He stared at the door of the bedroom and loathed the fact that the walls weren't thick enough to keep out Feliks' loud laugh. He turned back to the thick book and flipped through the pages. He sighed again, realizing that he had another fifty pages to read before he could call it a night. And tomorrow, he would read another hundred pages of the four-hundred-pages book, so that by the end of the week, he could help Feliks to write his term paper.

Let's not even mention the fact that Toris had papers to write too. But he was willing to push his own assignments to the bottom of the list to help Feliks out – all in the name of love and friendship.

He breathed deeply and forced his attention back to the small-printed book. He tried to read the words but they started to blend together into a puddle of black ink.

"Ha~ Ha~ Haha~ Ha~!" Feliks laughed again from the living room.

Toris checked the clock. He scooted away from the desk and turned off the lamp. A ten-minute-break wouldn't hurt his progress. He stretched his arms as he shuffled out of the room and headed to the living room.

Feliks was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a nail-filer in his hand. Bobby pins with glitter held up his hair. He was wearing a peach spaghetti-straps and underwear. He greeted Toris with a quick wave before he laughed at the television.

"What are you watching?" Toris asked casually, taking a seat on the comfortable couch.

"Stupidest Behaviors Caught On Tape," Feliks said through a giggle. "These people are like so dumb, you know~ They, like, oh my gosh, I don't even know where to start. This one lady like fell off the roof of her house. It was so funny~!"

Toris frowned as he watched a man missed and fell off the trampoline. He didn't think it was funny; in fact, he worried for the man's well-being. But next to him, Feliks laughed like a maniac and fiddled the nail-filer.

"Are you done reading?" the Pole asked when the commercial came on.

"No… I still have a lot to go."

"Then, why aren't you reading~? You don't get to slack off."

Toris forced a smile on his face. He knew Feliks didn't mean to come off sounding so rude and demanding. Sometimes, Feliks just lacked tact. He scratched his chin and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm taking a break," he said.

"Oh, oh, okay then~! Can you like get me a soda? I don't want to move."

Toris nodded his head before he even realized it. He sighed under his breath and stood up. If anything, Feliks should be getting him a soda. He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He checked the inventory and groaned; Feliks was supposed to go get grocery. The empty fridge told him his roommate didn't go.

He reached in and took the last can of soda. Just as he was closing the fridge, Feliks called from the living room.

"Liet~ Can you like get me something to eat? I'm totally craving something crunchy~!""

"Alright," Toris called back.

He put down the soda and checked the cupboards. He eyed the box of saltine crackers but decided against them. He scanned the expiration date on the box of cookie and took it down to throw it out; it had been expired for a week now. He grabbed a bag of chip in the back and looked it over.

"Are potato chips alright?" he asked.

"Eww~ Don't we have like something less fatty?"

Toris put the chips down and checked the cupboards again. He was having a hard time figuring what could be crunchy and not fatty at the same time. Maybe some celery or carrot sticks.

"I don't think we have anything else."

"Then, can you like run to the store and get me something?"

Toris heaved his shoulders. He fisted his hands and pressed them into the counter. Outside, Feliks laughed raucously again at someone's misfortune. He took a long and deep breath and shook his head. He grabbed the soda and walked back out.

"Ah ha~ Ha~ Dumb! This guy, this guy is like totally… Oh my god! Ha ha ha~"

He handed the can over but Feliks didn't take it. They exchanged a look and Toris caught the hint. He opened the soda and then handed it over. He wouldn't want Feliks to ruin his perfectly filed nails.

He looked at the screen in time to see a young man snowballing down the hill. He smiled weakly and walked away toward the bedroom.

"Don't you like wanna watch this with me, Liet?"

Toris stopped mid-way and turned back. He smiled and said, "I'm going to the store."

"Yay~! Oh, before you go, have you like seen my pink underwear? I can't find it~! It's like baby pink and lacy and it has like a little bow in the front. You know?"

Toris nodded and stifled a sigh in the back of his throat. He pointed and said, "Yeah, you're wearing it."

Feliks looked down and giggled himself silly. He turned his eyes to the screen and went on to file his nails. Toris flashed a small smile and dragged himself back to the room. He closed the door behind him. He walked to the drawers and picked out a change of clothes, wondering which store would still be open at eleven o'clock.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Thank you, crimson-obsidian-rose for providing this quote and also the suggestion to use it for LietPol. 8D~ Ah, first time writing these lovely boys. Feliks, you are such a dork. D:_

_07.22.09_

_2:35 AM_


	40. Spain x China

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: STOP! It's CRACK PAIRING TIME!_

* * *

**"Love is a lot like dancing-you just surrender to the music." - Unknown**

**Pairing: Spain x China**

* * *

It was a long and winded story how Yao came to become Antonio's dance partner. Even now at their fourth dancing session together, Yao still wondered how the Spaniard managed to convince him to tango. For once, he wasn't as flexible or nimble as Antonio had perceived him to be. Secondly, the tango was a very sensual dance, and Yao would normally feel uncomfortable to be that close to another body (unless that body belonged to Ivan, and even then, he had boundaries).

But under the guidance of Antonio's tanned arms and brilliant green eyes, he found himself surrendering to the melody of the Argentinean dance. His hand clasped tightly in Antonio's bigger one. His other one rested firmly on the strong shoulder. He stiffened his back and felt Antonio's hand on him, leading him to the beat.

"Passion," Antonio had said on the first day, "is the key to connect two souls. And two people are never as passionate as when they dance together. Dancing moves them. Dancing connects them as one."

Yao could think of something that was more passionate than dancing, but he only nodded his head then and listened. In the short time, he had gotten quite the hang of the beautiful dance.

They moved across the dance floor, graceful as angels. He gazed at Antonio's face; the permanent smile captivated him. He had always thought Europeans were troublesome and best left uninvolved with. But recently, he was starting to wish he could've met the cheerful Spaniard earlier on. Maybe things would have turned out very differently if he had Antonio as a friend.

Antonio gently led him into a turn. Yao counted his steps; he extended his arm and fell away from his partner. Then he followed the lead and returned to Antonio's waiting arm. Antonio widened his smile as he readjusted his hand behind his back, all without missing a beat of the dance.

Then it came Yao's least favorite part. The dance dictated that he must kick his leg up as the female partner would. He pouted – as he always did – and kicked his leg up. Antonio turned their bodies into each other and Yao kicked his leg up. It was the only thing he strongly disliked about the dance session: he was the woman. The footwork was also painstaking and complicated. But he supposed that was what made the tango seductive.

He lowered his eyes and watched his feet move, hoping he was finally getting it right. Twist and kick and twist and turn and kick and twist… or was it turn and twist and kick…

"Yao," Antonio said, "don't look at your feet. Look at me."

Yao blinked up as he was turned half way and led back into Antonio. He shrugged his shoulders and frowned weakly.

"It's hard," he mumbled, "I mess up."

"Don't worry about that," Antonio smiled, "dance with your heart, not with your feet!"

Yao scoffed and let off a smile. He took his eyes off his feet and locked them with Antonio's. The Spaniard flashed a wide smile and Yao showed an equally bright one. He took a breath as Antonio turned him out and pulled him into his arms; his back bumped into Antonio's chest. Antonio slipped his hands to Yao's waist. Yao readied himself as he was lifted off the ground and spun in a circle.

Antonio sat him back on his feet and turned him around. He fell into Antonio's arms. Their faces dangerously closed to each other's. Yao swallowed hard as Antonio's hand slid down to his thigh and pulled his leg up against him. It was one part of the dance that always made Yao blush. He braced himself and locked his hands behind Antonio's neck.

Antonio took a step back and lowered himself. Slowly, they descended toward the floor. Yao gulped; his tongue slipped out and licked his lips. Antonio made sure he had a secure hold on him. They switched position and Yao was now the one closer to the floor, with Antonio's hand on his back, holding him up.

And in a quick motion, Yao was lifted off his feet again by a strong pull from Antonio. Yao extended a leg in front and a leg behind as he was spun in circles. Antonio's one hand stayed on his back; the other supported him by the thigh.

It made him blush because their vital regions were pretty much pressed up against each other's.

As he was spun in circles, he could care less about what his body felt. It was what was pounding his heart that made the difference.

Antonio slowed down the spinning and gently came to a stop. Yao set his feet on the floor. His hand rested behind Antonio's shoulder while Antonio's hands were on his waist, keeping their bodies close. Slowly, they repositioned their bodies and hands. But in the seconds before they did, they remained close. So close that Yao could smell the faint scent of tomato in Antonio's breath.

They returned to the initial position and danced across the room once again. It was now the second part of the dance. Antonio turned him so that his back leaned against his chest. Like a father guiding his baby son to walk, Antonio led Yao from behind. Only, the leading was more sensual than a father-and-son would. Antonio pulled Yao's hand and placed it next to his hip as they took their steps. Yao leaned forward with Antonio pushed up against him. The Spaniard's chin on his shoulder, hot Spanish breath on his cheek, they continued the dance.

Antonio pulled him back and Yao obediently leaned back and kicked his leg up. He switched his weight to the leg he had just kicked and made a snappy turn. Now, they were face-to-face again. Antonio took the lead, Yao stepped back. He took a quick breath and prepared himself.

The final part of the dance – the last moment of passionate connection.

Antonio raised their hands up over their heads. He pulled and Yao promptly did a turn. But instead of returning to face each other again, the Spaniard shifted his hand to hold Yao around his waist. In the split second, Yao gulped. Then, he was very quickly dipped. To be more accurate, it felt more like he was dropped. But he trusted Antonio to keep him away from hitting the hard floor. With Antonio's arm on his lower back, Yao bent backward as much as possible and kicked his leg up. His hair cascaded over the floor.

The end of the dance – the descent into sin.

They stayed still in their position with Yao's leg still up in air. Yao gazed up at the Spaniard and watched the green eyes glisten. He let out a breathless gasp when Antonio gradually pulled him up. Only that Antonio didn't move back. He brought his leg down and used it as a balance point. He lowered his eyelids as the tips of their noses bumped. He tilted his head up and Antonio's lips fit perfectly onto his.

Yao finally understood what Antonio meant about 'dancing connecting two souls'. The kiss was brief but overflowed with intensity. They pulled part, Antonio guiding him to stand up. Their hands still on each other's body, they exchanged a deep gaze.

Antonio smiled, cheeks flushing, "Thanks for dancing with me!"

Yao nodded and cleared his throat. "Thanks for teaching me."

And so it ended their fourth session together.

Their fifth session was unfortunately canceled. Yao was bombarded by a barrage of tomatoes as soon as he stepped out his door and suffered from a severe concussion. Antonio, not as lucky, had both his legs broken by supposedly a crazed man with a steel pipe.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: 40 chapters! 40 chapters! ;A; I wonder how long I can go on doing this..._

_THANK YOU for all of your support! I wouldn't have made it this far without you guys~ If I haven't talked to you personally yet, you just wait 'cause I will! 8Db_

_Thank you again! _

_07.22.09_

_3:50 AM_


	41. Switzerland x Austria

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"The saddest thing in the world is loving someone who used to love you." – Unknown**

**Pairing: Switzerland x Austria**

* * *

Roderich giggled excitedly as he ran ahead of Vash. He treaded through the meadow and ran toward nowhere in particular. The scent of spring flowers filled his heart up with excitement and youth. Most importantly, he was happy because he was out spending time with his dearest friend. And Roderich wasn't naturally a happy kid; his circumstance simply didn't grant him that privilege. But whenever he was with Vash, all the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders, and he felt like he existed for a reason other than war.

He spun around and waved at Vash, urging the calmer Swiss to hurry up. Vash huffed in defiance and steadied his slow pace, lingering behind the excited Austrian. Tired of waiting for the slowpoke, Roderich hurried over and threw himself in the unsuspecting arms.

"W-what are you doing!" Vash scowled, knocking the Austrian boy over the head.

"If we hurry, we can spend more time playing together," Roderich reasoned, taking Vash's hands into his and holding them tightly over his chest.

Vash snarled and turned his head away. Without warning, Roderich gave a rough tug and dragged the other boy into running with him. He laughed and ran as quickly as he could, while Vash fought to keep him back.

"S-slow down! You'll fall!" Vash shouted angrily. "Roderich!"

Roderich just kept on running and laughing, his fingers interlocked with Vash's. He turned his head back and briefly looked at Vash panting for air. He smiled and laughed loud and excited, pulling his friend close with him. They climbed over the small hill of wildflowers. On the other side of the hill was a beautiful plain grass field – their favorite spot.

Roderich's heart sped up as he descended the slope, not quite watching where his feet were landing. With a wide smile, he chirped, "We are here!"

"Slow down!" Vash shouted behind him. "If you fall…!"

Then, Vash tripped.

Roderich didn't even realize it since his eyes were focused in front of him. He heard a surprised gasp from his friend's mouth. He turned his head just in time to see the panicked look on Vash's face. He watched Vash slumped forward by the pull of gravity. The moment finally hit him when Vash's hand pulled on his, dragging him down.

Except Vash didn't allow it to happen. He let go of their hands seconds before he landed on his side.

Roderich stood completely frozen. He watched helplessly as Vash rolled down the hill, sounding muffled cries of pain. It wasn't until Vash stopped at the bottom that he finally snapped out of his trance. His first reaction was to yelp with fear.

"V… Vash!" he shrieked, body trembling.

He ran quickly down the hill, nearly tripping over a few times. He never would've expected Vash to fall; the Swiss was usually so cautious and aware. He knew then that it was his fault. He was the one pulling Vash along, forcing him to run. He was also fairly certain that it was his foot that Vash tripped over. It was his fault, and Roderich shook with guilt.

"V-Vash… A-are you okay?" he whimpered as he kneeled next to his friend. The bloody scratches on Vash's arms and elbows made his heart burn. He grimaced, beads of tears seeping out. "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Vash… Vash…"

"Don't cry!" Vash scolded, holding his shoulder with his hand and biting his lip. "Stop crying! I'm the one who's hurt!"

It only made Roderich cry harder and louder. The Austrian leaned forward and pressed his face into Vash's chest, his hands gripping the dirtied shirt. Vash groaned in pain and let out a sigh. He put his hand behind Roderich's back and patted him gently.

"It wasn't your fault," Vash said, seeming to have read Roderich's mind.

"I-it was…! It was!"

"Hmph…! It doesn't matter either way," the Swiss said softly. "But now you know you should to listen to me!"

"I'm sorry, Vash!"

Roderich pulled away, face wet with tears. Vash looked down at his moist shirt and sighed with displease. The Austrian boy stared at Vash's left arm, where a large scratch reddened the skin. He put his hands on Vash's arm and moved forward. He pressed his lips to the wound.

Vash flinched and stammered anxiously. "S-stop it! W-what do you think you are doing!"

"If I kiss it, does it hurt less?"

"I-it doesn't!" Vash snapped his head away. "S-stop doing that!"

Roderich deepened his frown. He licked his lips guiltily and dropped his hands to his laps. He lowered his head and quivered his lips. If Vash was mad at him…

"It's fine," Vash mumbled quietly. "It's better that I was the one who fell instead of you."

"H-huh?" Roderich looked up, blinking with confusion. "B-but… why…?"

"Um… Because… I… I wouldn't want…" Vash stuttered. His cheeks flushed pink. He took a sharp breath and said, "If you got hurt, I wouldn't… forgive myself. Because… I am supposed to protect you…! And you are a clumsy crybaby so you probably wouldn't stop crying if you got hurt! That's all!"

Roderich perked up and smiled widely. He threw himself into Vash's arms again and giggled happily. He sighed with content. Even though he was young, he knew he was lucky to have someone like Vash to watch after him. And if he were to leave the Swiss boy or vice versa, he didn't know if he could get by. Vash was his heart – the reason to his happiness.

"Vash, we'll be friends forever, ja?"

The Swiss gave a subtle nod of his head. Roderich softened and rubbed his face against Vash's chest, giggling like a moron. Regardless of the circumstances, as long as he was with Vash, he was happy.

"S-stop that!" Vash pushed his face away from his chest, cheeks burning hot.

* * *

"Friends?"

Roderich kept his eyes on the patch of skin, where the hint of an old injury remained.

"Hnf! I was never friends with that guy!"

He wondered if he could kiss it again.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Okay... I'm like completely in love with this pairing now. It may replace P x A as my favorite Austria pairing. The angst, the sweetness, the "I'm not your friend anymore" delicious drama! ;A;_

_On a different note: I'm roleplaying as Austria in an LJ community. YAY! xDD~_

_07.23.09_

_2:55 AM_


	42. Prussia x Hungary

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This story is AU~!_

* * *

**"You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul." – Julie de Lespinasse**

**Pairing: Prussia x Hungary**

* * *

Today was just one of those days that Elizaveta hated. She stood by the sink and hastily washed the dishes from lunch. Obviously, Roderich wasn't going to wash dishes because soap and excess water would ruin his skin and therefore influence his ability to play. When told to wear rubber gloves, Roderich claimed he disliked the feel of rubber on his hands. Or something like that, Elizaveta didn't really pay attention.

She didn't mind doing the household chores at all, but she did mind it when people assumed she _must_ do them because she was a woman. She gritted her teeth at the thought; she was much better than a lot of men combined. If all the men were half the person she was the world would be a better place.

She sighed and blew her hair away from her mouth as she dipped a dirty plate into the sink and scrubbed it with a dishcloth. She felt a tingling in her stomach. Call it a woman's intuition: she just knew her day was about to get worse.

"Go away, Gilbert," she said before the bothersome Prussian even made his presence.

Gilbert strolled into the kitchen with a hand charged on his hip and a wide grin. His face, Elizaveta could see off the window. Even the distorted reflection didn't help to erase the smug grin on his face.

"Doing your wifely duties, I see," Gilbert teased with a snicker. "I guess that's all you are good for."

Elizaveta fought the urge. She gripped the plate between her fingers and breathed out slowly. She would never understand why the annoying Prussian still stuck around. Roderich was kind enough to open his house to him even though they despised each other. But there was no reason for Gilbert to come bother them.

Unless there was a reason, but Gilbert had yet to reveal it.

She took the plate out of the sink and set it aside to dry. She glanced up at the window and watched Gilbert's reflection watching her back. The glass made his eyes less enticing than they usually were. She looked away, turned her eyes back to the dishes, and cleaned the next one.

Gilbert shuffled behind her, making odd little noises that annoyed her to no end. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? She stole a quick glance off the window and watched him for a moment. She huffed and roughly put a cleaned plate on the counter; it clung loudly as it landed.

"Geesh," Gilbert said, "don't break anything now with your man hands!"

"What do you want?" she said as calmly and politely as she could. If there was one thing she had picked up from living with Roderich, it was pretending to be polite and nice.

"What? I can't be in the kitchen now? Heh, I guess a kitchen really is a woman's territory."

Elizaveta fought the urge again. Throwing a plate at Gilbert would only end in more work for her to do. She stifled a sigh and kept her focus on washing the dishes. She looked up briefly when Gilbert appeared next to her.

He picked up the plate and held it up high to examine it.

"Hey, this one is still dirty," he said, dropping the plate back into the sink.

It landed right on Elizaveta's hands. But she didn't flinch or make a change in her expression. She took the plate in her hands and lifted it back out of the water. She gave it a brief look and put it back on the counter.

"Didn't you hear me? It's still dirty." Gilbert scooted the plate back into the sink. It clanked when it hit the bottom.

Eilzaveta closed her eyes for a moment to clear her mind. She knew the only way to win against Gilbert was to simply ignore him. That egoist couldn't stand to be ignored.

Or, she could beat the crap out of him. But she wasn't in the mood to beat Gilbert up. At least not right now when she was doing the dishes.

She took the dish back out and set it on the other side, out of Gilbert's reach. The Prussian gave her a look and snarled his lips with displease.

"Can't even do your job right," he teased. "Ha~! What does that aristocrat see in you?"

She kept up her strategy and ignored the comment. She focused her eyes on the sink and washed the dishes without offering a change in her expression. Simply put, she pretended that Gilbert wasn't there. And to her fortune, it was working on the attention-starved Prussian.

Gilbert circled around her and got to the other side. He picked up the plate and dipped it back into the sink. Elizaveta watched the plate sink to the bottom of the sink. She figured there was no point in continuing the charade. Any minute spent on Gilbert was a minute wasted.

She turned on the water and washed her hands clean of soap. She would come back later to finish the dishes; they weren't in a hurry to get cleaned anyways. And Roderich wouldn't know since he didn't frequent the kitchen.

She dried her hands on the towel. She walked away from the sink and headed out the kitchen.

"H-hey! W-w-wait!" Gilbert shouted, almost in panic.

Elizaveta stopped. She turned around, hands gripping her apron tightly. She couldn't take it anymore. What in the world did Gilbert want from her?

"Why are you still here?" she asked, clenching her teeth. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"H-ha… b-because…" Gilbert stuttered, eyes avoiding her. "Because… uh… because y-you are f-fun to make fun of…! Yeah, yeah, that's it!"

"Don't lie to me," she hissed.

Gilbert flinched. The smug grin disappeared from his face. He turned his head away and stared at the ground nervously.

Elizaveta sighed and dusted her apron.

"Leave," she said, "I don't want to see you again."

"W-what… You can't order me around!"

She gave him a strong look, and he backed down – at least for now. She turned around and walked out of the kitchen.

"Elizaveta," she heard him calling.

She paused for a moment, her heart aching strangely. She shook her head and started walking again. Whatever it was between her and Gilbert…

She walked into the living room and stopped to watch Roderich sit by the piano, gazing attentively at the music sheets.

She bit her lips and turned her head back toward the kitchen, half-hoping to see Gilbert chasing after her. She almost laughed at herself for the silly thought. After all:

_If you loved me, Gilbert, you never would've let me married Roderich._

_

* * *

_

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: asjdlk;f! Long author note is long! There are pairings that people have requested that I have yet to write simply because I don't know those characters well enough to write about them. And I would hate - and I know you would hate - to see those characters behaving not like themselves. Hungary happens to be one of those characters that I can't write. So sadly, I made her into your typical suffering housewife with a distant husband who is in love with someone else. And because of that, I feel I screw up how Gilbert would act around her. For that, I am sorry! I'll do my best next time... if there is a next time... =v=;;_

_Also, since I roleplay as Austria, I like him more now. But I also realize what an asshole he can be. Rodi, you silly jerk. 8D;;_

_Ah~! Back to the topic, I'll try my hardest to fulfill these requests! But... I apologize in advance if I mess up. ;A;  
_

_07.24.09_

_2:35 AM_


	43. Sealand x Latvia :3:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This is NOT a happy story. It DOESN'T have a happy ending. And it is very poorly-written. D8_

_

* * *

_

**"If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you." – Winnie the Pooh**

**Pairing: Sealand and Latvia**

* * *

Raivis had been through a lot of things in his life even though he was still a child. The list of horrors he had seen and experienced could easily scar a full-grown adult for life. But Raivis was strong and, despite his appearance and deposition, he was spirited. If he could survive under Russian rules, he could survive though anything.

Or so he had thought.

He had never been so terrified, nor had ever run so quickly before. But when he heard the news, they were the only two things he knew to do.

He rushed to Peter's house as quickly as possible. Fortunately since the Sealander was still living with his adopted parents in Sweden, the journey wasn't too long. He panted heavily as he stumbled to the front door. He banged on the door, his lungs barely able to keep up pumping oxygen to his head.

The door opened slowly. A tear-stained Tino greeted him with a tired face. He tried to smile and greeted him warmly, but Raivis could sense the distress in the normally-warm household. He hurried in and made his way to Peter's room. He stopped and lingered outside the door; the place that he had visited so many times suddenly felt strange and frightening.

He took a deep breath. He gripped the doorknob and opened the door.

He couldn't figure how to react when he saw Peter lying on the bed, panting heavily and tiredly. He forced his legs to move until he towered over Peter. His throat went dry, and tears immediately welled up in his eyes.

"Peter?" he called softly, voice trembling.

The Sealander opened his eyes and gazed at him. He smiled, and it stabbed at Raivis' heart how weak the smile was. The light in Peter's blue eyes was faint and hazy. His skin was pale, and his lips were chapped.

"Raivis," Peter greeted tiredly, his voice was hushed. "Where have you been? I was so bored…"

"I-I," Raivis choked on his words. He licked his lips and forced himself to speak. "I came a-as f-fast as I c-could…"

"Heehee. I'm glad you are here…," Peter said, "Papa won't let me go out to play."

Raivis wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms. He nodded, understanding why his papa didn't allow him to leave the house. He shuffled forward and nervously sat on the edge of the bed. Peter widened his smile, and the lines of fatigue plagued his young face.

Why was Peter dying? Raivis whimpered, throwing his hand over his mouth. How could a healthy child just suddenly get sick one day? Terminally sick?

The doctors said it was genetic. Then why was Arthur Kirkland still running alive and well? Raivis didn't understand such thing.

"So… play with me…!"

"H-hmm!" Raivis nodded quickly and sniffled. "W-what do… what do you want to play?"

"Uh… maybe…" Peter stopped mid-sentence to cough a few times. He let out a weak breath and continued as if nothing had happened. "Hmmm… Umm! How about a thumb war?"

Peter took his hand from underneath the blanket and positioned his hand. Raivis winced at how thin Peter's arm had gotten. He swallowed hard and tried to grin as he locked his fingers with Peter; Peter's hand was so cold.

"One, two, three…!" Peter chanted.

Raivis sniffled and wrestled with Peter's thumb. Normally, the Sealander would've won in seconds and be boasting his victory already. But this time, Raivis pursed his lips as he watched Peter sluggishly move his thumb without any of his usual vigor. He let out a sharp cry and bit his bottom lip to stop himself from sobbing.

Peter glanced up at him and frowned.

"What's the matter, Raivis?" he asked in his tired voice. "I won't beat you too bad…!"

Raivis let go. Instead, he clutched Peter's hand tightly and held it to his lips. Peter blinked, and slowly smiled.

"Raivis is such a crybaby," the Sealander teased, laughing breathlessly.

"P-Peter," Raivis cried softly. "P-please don't… I can't… I don't know what…"

"Heh… I will miss you too."

Raivis let out a loud sob. He lowered his head and pressed his forehead against Peter's chest. The Sealander laughed and patted him on the back.

"You're heavy, heavy…!"

Raivis pulled himself away. He tried to match the smile on Peter's face but he couldn't find a reason to smile. And usually being with Peter would make him smile. He wiped his eyes and once again tried to keep a cool composure. Peter was handling the situation well, and he should too.

"I'm tired," Peter mumbled. He looked up and grinned, "Let's take a nap together…!"

Raivis nodded as Peter scooted toward the wall. He lifted up the blankets and crawled into bed next to his friend. He moved close and lay on his side so he could look at Peter's face. The Sealander blinked at the intense stare and grinned again. Shortly after, he let his eyes close with a smile.

"After our nap," Peter said, "I'll ask Fin-papa for some blueberry soup…"

Raivis reached over and gripped Peter's pajama. Peter's breathing slowed down; the movement of his chest became less apparent. He moved in again until his chin was on Peter's shoulder. He put his arm around the boy and held him close, hoping somehow that would keep Peter with him.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Logical question: He isn't in the hospital because they don't want him to be alone there and it isn't going to do much against the Kirkland curse. I imagine this is what happens when Sealand ceases to be a micronation... or if the base collapse or something... but a drowning fic would be more fitting. w;;_

_07.24.09s_

_3:53 AM_


	44. Hong Kong x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: Abridged version is abridged. 8D_

* * *

**"A man is not where he lives, but where he loves." - Latin Proverb**

**Pairing: Hong Kong x Canada**

* * *

It was dinner time at the Kirkland household. Arthur was seated on the far end of the table. Matthew, himself, sat in the middle to Arthur's left. To Arthur's right side – originally Alfred's seat – was the young Asian boy that Arthur had acquired from the East a while ago.

Matthew alternated his glance between Arthur and Hong Kong, whom was supposed to be his 'little brother' now. Arthur said he was different; he was calm and obedient, nothing like that 'ungrateful Alfred'.

Arthur ate his dinner quietly and quickly, without offering a word to the boys. Hong Kong stared blankly at his plate, having not even touched his utensils. Matthew cut through the fish fillet with his fork and took a small bite; his eyes lingered on the Asian boy across the table.

"You don't like fish?" Matthew asked.

He saw Arthur perk up out of his corner. They both watched Hong Kong for a moment before Arthur turned his attention back to his plate. Hong Kong didn't react to the question, not even a flick of his eyes. The boy simply sat completely still, like someone had put a petrifying curse on him.

Matthew pursed his lips and went on eating his dinner; now and then, he would look over at Hong Kong to see if the boy was eating. He would find that he wasn't and that he only stared at his plate like he didn't know what food was and wondered why Arthur was serving him such a thing.

And no one said another word for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Mathew steadied a tray of food on his hands as he walked over to Hong Kong's room. He took a look at the glass of milk and the plate of freshly made pancake drizzled with maple syrup and butter. He figured that fish and chip probably wasn't to Hong Kong's taste and decided to handmade the late-night snack for his 'brother'.

He knocked on the door softly and waited patiently for Hong Kong to answer. His chest tensed when no one answered his knocks. He tried again, and when he was once again ignored, he reached for the knob slowly.

"Hong Kong? I'm coming in."

He opened the door – lucky that it was unlocked – and stepped into the room. Hong Kong's room used to be a guest room and as such, it was smaller than the other room and wasn't decorated or furnished as nicely. He spotted Hong Kong sitting by the window seat, staring out through the reflective glass. Off the reflection, he saw Hong Kong giving him a look of acknowledgment. He approached with a smile.

"I thought you'd be hungry," Matthew said as he set down the tray of food near Hong Kong's foot.

The Asian boy glanced at the food from the corner of his eye. Uninterested, he turned his attention back out the window. Matthew scooted the tray a little away so he could join Hong Kong on the window seat. He pulled his legs up to his chest, rocking a little bit, and gazed out the window as well. He briefly remembered that the window faced east and he could already guess where Hong Kong was looking to.

"I know it's hard to adjust," Matthew said slowly, "but Arthur is a very good person and he'll take good care of you."

Hong Kong didn't respond. His dark eyes gazed longingly out toward East.

Matthew shifted and licked his lips. He knew it wasn't exactly the same thing, but he went through the similar fear and the confusion when Arthur and Francis first showed up. Being taken away from his home and forced to live in a stranger's house, it was a kind of adjustment that would take years to accommodate. But like he had said, both Arthur and Francis were good people, and eventually he had come to love and cherish them. And there was Alfred too, even though they weren't full-pledge brother, the kindness and spirit of the American had helped him through very difficult time.

Now, he could only hope he could live up to Alfred's footsteps in providing the same kind of moral support to Hong Kong.

With a bold move, he reached over and slowly took Hong Kong's hand into his own. The Asian flinched immediately and pulled away, backing against the wall. Matthew took a deep breath; he wouldn't give up easily, he knew he could get through to Hong Kong. He scooted and reached for Hong Kong's hand again.

The Asian jerked his hand and tucked both of them under his arms. He kept his head turned and pressed the back of it against the wall. His eyes still averted Matthew.

"It's okay," Matthew said softly. Once again, he made a move toward Hong Kong.

Hong Kong broke away from his poise. He shoved away Matthew and launched toward him; his hands dug into Matthew's arms tightly, eyes flaring with anger. For a moment, Matthew thought that Hong Kong was really going to attack him. But Hong Kong simply glared at him; those dark eyes shaking beneath his heavy frown. Soon after, the Asian bit his lips and dropped his hands to his laps, once again retreating back against the wall.

Matthew took a moment to calm his nerves. He thought maybe he was pushing Hong Kong too hard. But it had been too many nights since Hong Kong had arrived, and Matthew worried for his well-being. He had already come so far; if Alfred was here, the American would push on until he could snap Hong Kong out of his stupor.

He scooted closer and studied Hong Kong's reaction. Aside from looking a little stunned, Hong Kong retained his usual aloof composure. He took a deep breath and braced himself whatever his next reaction could result.

He brought his arms up and slowly wrapped them around Hong Kong. He tried to pull the boy into a hug, but Hong Kong remained unmoving. Instead, Matthew moved further and leaned into Hong Kong. He briefly took note of how skinny Hong Kong was; probably the result of not eating much since he came to Arthur's house. Gently, he rubbed Hong Kong's arm. No, Matthew certainly didn't think a hug could solve their problem; but it was a good start.

It took a long moment before he felt Hong Kong relaxing. Then, it was another few minutes before Hong Kong – with much hesitation – put his hands on Matthew's back and returned the hug. Matthew sighed softly and rested his chin on Hong Kong's shoulder, and Hong Kong did the same. He stroked his arm in a soothing manner, remembering how good it had made him feel when Francis did it. He heard Hong Kong breath heavily and his shoulders heaving down. There was a subtle tremor on Hong Kong's part.

And finally after a long silence, Hong Kong said the first words of the night – words that Matthew already knew he was going to say: "I want to go home."

"If we try hard," Matthew said encouragingly, "this can be your home too."

* * *

Matthew panted heavily as he leaned against the side of the building. His arms shaking as he tried to hold on to his rifle. When he heard about the Japanese army attacking Hong Kong, he just had to come help his 'brother' out. At that time, he didn't realized how inexperienced he was in comparison to the rest of the troops. Even Hong Kong was doing better than he was, and the boy hadn't seen much warfare.

He watched Hong Kong reload his rifle. They exchanged a glance, and Hong Kong reached over. Matthew gasped when Hong Kong pried his rifle out of his hands and instead gave him the loaded one. He watched Hong Kong load the firearm again, only without as much bullets; they were running out of ammunitions already. The cocking of the gun echoed loudly in his ears, and he swallowed hard.

Behind them, gunfire rang out, and the shouting of the Japanese army drew near. Matthew looked back to their side and their wounded soldiers. Arthur had gone off to defend the rest of his interests, leaving only limited troops behind. There was no way, Matthew knew, that Hong Kong was going to walk out of the fight with the upper hand. And he knew he wasn't much help.

He gripped the rifle tightly and let out a shaky sigh, hoping that Arthur would come back to help them out soon. Arthur couldn't just abandon Hong Kong like that… could he?

"Matthew," Hong Kong called in his low and steady voice, "go home."

"W-what? N-no! I'm not leaving you too!"

"This isn't your fight," Hong Kong said as he stood up. "Go home."

Matthew jumped up as well – not really realizing how dangerous that move was. He grabbed Hong Kong by the wrist and tugged him back, trying to convince the other one that yes, he wasn't exactly battle-ready, but no, he wasn't going to just leave and head home.

But he wasn't fast enough to say his declaration before a pair of soft lips was over his own. His eyes went wide from shock before he quickly closed them and savored the taste and feel of Hong Kong's lips. It was a chaste and simple kiss, but it felt Matthew breathless and his heart fearing for the worst. He hoped it wasn't a good-bye-forever kiss.

"Go home," Hong Kong said again, softer, "and wait for me."

Matthew nodded and, as much as he didn't want, he turned away from the battlefield. He heard the shifting of the rifle and Hong Kong's footsteps walking off. He kept his eyes on his side and fought the urge to look back. He clutched the loaded rifle in his hands as he hurried toward safety, where the rest of the Canadian troops were waiting.

* * *

Matthew struggled to suppress his anger when Arthur handed Hong Kong over to the enemy. He understood it was the best course of action, but he couldn't simply forgive Arthur for surrendering. But he couldn't be mad at Arthur either; they had no choice. There were still many more battles to fight and they couldn't exhaust their resources on just one place.

So, instead, Matthew waited at home. A year went by, and another one, and one more. And finally the day came when Hong Kong came back.

Matthew clutched his shirt, not quite knowing how to greet a person he hadn't spoken to in almost four years. There was foreignness to Hong Kong, just like when they met for the first time. He could see the strains and fatigue on his face, and it tugged at his heart that he hadn't been able to help much back then.

There was a long silence between them as they stood looking at each other. Hong Kong's dark eyes gazed into his, and Matthew softened in response.

"I am home," Hong Kong said.

It had come so sudden that Matthew almost thought he had misheard him. But as soon as the words were processed by his brain, he pushed a wide smile on his face and let out a soft and happy laugh.

"Welcome home," he said, and threw himself on Hong Kong. "Welcome home."

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Hmmm~! Cheese! 8D_

_HK x Canada is probably the first pairing that I ship for both of them... xDD;; It all started with a Battle of Hong Kong fic that I read and even though Canada was only briefly mentioned in it, it clicked so fast in my head! I feel their personalities really compliment each other's... 8D;;_

_I have both of their flags in my room and I notice how familiar their flags are too! Both are red and white, and feature their flower in the center. Matching flags FTW? 8DD_

_Anyhow... As you may already know, I also ship Korea x Canada and Korea x HK, so Korea x HK x Canada is my OT3. 8Db_

_44 stories and Canada is in 10 of them. Guess you can tell who's my favorite~!  
_

_07.27.09_

_2:06 AM_


	45. Russia x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"I see my fated stars in your eyes. They melt me like the sun does snow." --Unknown**

**Pairing: Russia x Canada**

* * *

"Kumajirou! Kumajirou!"

Matthew panted heavily as he hurried through the snow-blocked street. It was drawing close to night, and he had already spent hours looking for his lost bear. Sure, in his anger, he had shouted at Kumajirou (why didn't the bear stop eating his shoes like he had kindly asked!?). But he didn't think Kumajirou would run away from home. Oh, the horror! They had been together since forever; Matthew could hardly imagine a day without his best friend.

He stopped to take a breath and pulled his collar up over his mouth and nose. The winter wasn't very kind to his homeland. He glanced around and found that he was turned northwest, where it was getting colder and darker. He bit his lips as he nervously checked around him, hoping to catch a hint of his beloved companion. Where would Kumajirou have gone off to?

He picked up his search again and continued the course northwest. Maybe Kumajirou had headed toward the ocean for fish. Yes, that could be it! Kumajirou sure liked to eat! Matthew sighed sadly as he hoped he wasn't just lying to himself.

He ran by the park and made his way around it. Kumajirou liked parks; he liked to watch the squirrels play sometimes. He skipped through the snow-covered grass field and scanned the white landscape. Just as he was about to move on, he noticed something by the water fountain.

"K-Kumajirou!" he shouted. His bear was sitting… on someone's laps.

He hurried over to the bench and only slowed down when he was near.

"Who?" Kumajirou greeted as per usual. At least the bear was still his spirited self.

Matthew turned his eyes to the man whose laps Kumajirou was occupying. The man was tall with a childish face as well as a wide and harmless smile. His scarf was wrapped around both his and the bear's necks. His hands were on the bear's waist, keeping it secured.

"Hi~! Is this your bear?" the man asked with a wide smile.

"U-uh, yes! I'm sorry if he's been bothering you!"

"Ha~ It's not a bother at all! He is really cute~!"

"T-thank you," Matthew said with a blush. Most people didn't really care for his bear. "Ah, okay! C'mon, Kumajirou. Let's go home!"

The bear blinked at him, like it didn't understand its owner had just said. Matthew stuttered nervously while the man chirped with a smile.

"Kumajirou," Matthew hissed under his breath, "let's go home…!"

Instead of blinking at him, Kumajirou turned its head, almost like it was ignoring Matthew. Matthew bit his lips; was Kumajirou still mad at him? Well, he wasn't about to apologize publicly in front of a stranger. It would make him look like a bad owner!

"Kumajirou…!"

"Ah~ha," the man chuckled softly. "He told me he's sad because you don't spend more time with him~!"

It was now Matthew's turn to blink. He alternated his eyes between the bear and the man. What did Kumajirou mean by that! They spent plenty of time together!

"He says you don't pay enough attention to him~!"

"W-what? No, I give him so much attention!" Matthew stuttered.

"Ehh? Ah~ha! Being together isn't the same as paying attention. You're neglecting Kumajirou's needs and feelings," the man said, "you should try to listen to what he wants more, Matthew~!"

"B-but I-I do pay---" Wait, how did the man know his name?

Then, as if he had read Matthew's mind, the man said with a chirp, "Kumajirou told me all about you~!"

"A-all… about me?" Matthew flustered. Didn't he teach Kumajirou not to talk to strangers!

"Hmm~! Matthew, if you don't treat your bear well, I'll have to take him away from you. Ah~ha!"

Matthew couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He forced a nervous smile on his face and turned his attention back to his bear. Well, the man did have a point. He didn't always listen to what Kumajirou wanted. Kumajirou wasn't just a pet, it was a friend – it was family.

"Hey, Kumajirou," he said softly, "I'm sorry I haven't been treating you well. But… let's get a fresh start, okay?"

Kumajirou hesitated for a moment before it leaped off the man's laps and clutched to Matthew's legs. Matthew smiled in relief and picked up the bear, holding it tight in his arms. They embraced for a moment and Matthew felt a weight lifted off his chest. He looked at the smiling man and nodded with half-gratitude-half-awkwardness.

"T-thanks for watching Kumajirou for me," Matthew said.

"Ha~ No problem! Ah, would it be alright if I visit sometimes?"

"U-uh… Visit?"

"Yes," Kumajirou jumped in to answer.

Matthew gave his bear a look. The man clapped his hands once with excitement and laughed softly with a tilted head.

"Ha~ I'm glad! Matthew and Kumajirou are both so cute! It'd be nice if we can spend time together~!"

Matthew gulped and smiled nervously. He muttered a short good-bye before he quickly headed on his way. He sighed in relief and slyly turned his head to look back at the man. He was still on the bench, waving at him. Matthew turned his head around and forced his eyes on the road. At least the strange-over-friendly man wouldn't be able to find him…

"I told him where we live," Kumajirou said.

Matthew was seriously considering kicking Kumajiou out of the house now. He turned back one last time and saw the man. Their eyes, through the distance, still met. He had never seen such... lovely violet eyes before. He bit his lips and turned to face forward again. Maybe it wouldn't be as terrifying as he was imaging it. After all, an animal-lover couldn't be a bad person!

He walked back home with Kumajirou in his arms. The last ray of sun slowly melted the snow under his boots.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Who else wants a Kumajirou? Guaranteed to bring strangers into your life! This pairing and the quote is requested/suggested by Alternate Life. (See, I'm filling out requests... slowly!) 8D;;_

_P.S. You probably won't see much of Russia x China in this collection anymore~! I'm saving my ideas for my 100 theme challenge (which all of you should be reading! xDD)._

_Yup. Yay._

_07.27.09_

_4:30 AM_


	46. America x England & Cuba x Canada

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: This is not a foursome! Rated PG13 for subject matter!  
_

* * *

**"We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love." - Tom Robbins**

**Pairing: America x England + Cuba x Canada**

* * *

"When are you going home?"

Alfred pouted angrily and buried his face in the pillow, grumbling something about how Arthur was an idiot and not even the Devil would eat scones. Matthew sighed and rubbed his temple as he sat on the edge of his bed. He gave his brother a few gentle pats on his back before he stood up again.

"Fine," Matthew mumbled, "you can spend the night here."

A muffled 'hurray' was said into the pillow. Shortly after, Alfred rolled over and crawled beneath the sheets. Matthew watched him fluff himself into the bed with a frown. Alfred wasn't thinking of sleeping in his bed, was he? He bit his bottom lip; it would be awkward to sleep in the same bed now that they were both older.

But he supposed he could survive for a night.

He walked around the bed and shooed Kumajirou out of the way. The bear would have to sleep on the floor or on the sofa tonight. He climbed into bed just as Alfred turned over to face him. He took off his glasses and lay still for a moment. He could feel Alfred's eyes staring at him. He sighed and turned his head. Just as he was about to say something, Alfred cut him off.

"Did you and _him_ have sex yet?"

Matthew squealed with surprise. His teeth clenched with embarrassment. He turned away to look up at the ceiling, his cheeks flushing.

"W-what kind of question is that!"

"What?" Alfred frowned. "You've been with him for like… four months now?"

"S-so…"

"So… you guys must have done it already, right?"

"I-I'm not telling you about my sex life!" Matthew said quickly, rolling over in bed. He pulled the sheets up over his shoulder, gesturing that he was going to sleep. End conversation!

"Oh, c'mon," Alfred whined. "Me and Arthur've done it."

Matthew flinched at the sudden rush of unpleasant imagery. It was almost worse than the night when Francis taught him all about 'the bird and the bee' with visual demonstrations. He squeezed his eyes shut, but upon realizing how horrible that was, he opened them quickly.

"Why are you asking me this?" Matthew asked, rolling over to face his brother. Maybe if Alfred saw how uncomfortable the topic was making him, he would stop asking strange questions.

"Is he good?"

"Alfred!" Matthew shrieked.

"You're the bottom, right?"

Matthew felt like he was going to scream really loud. He pulled the sheets up over his face to cover up his embarrassment. He shuddered beneath the sheet, heavily regretting letting Alfred stay the night. He should've known Alfred would make things difficult for him.

"Sometimes," Alfred went on, "when we're doing it, I feel like Arthur isn't there with me. You know what I mean?"

"Oh my g…. No!" As if he would know how sex with Arthur would be like. Nor did he want to concur up the image. Oh, he loved Arthur with all his heart, but he could never imagine them in that kind of relationship.

"It's… He doesn't want to look at me. He either closes his eyes or he's looking at somewhere else."

"Please stop," Matthew whimpered, palming his hands over his ears.

"It makes me wonder if he even wants to be with me…"

Matthew took his hands off his ears. He sighed and scooted close to Alfred. Fluffing his pillow, he studied the look on Alfred's face and realized that his usually confident brother was actually having self-doubt.

"Arthur loves you," he said strongly. He knew it was the truth.

"I hope so." Alfred drove the heel of his palm into his eye. "Ugh, what's the hell is wrong with me?"

"There is nothing wrong with you, Al…"

Matthew swallowed hard and silently prayed that there was another reason – besides the obvious one – that Alfred was rubbing his eyes. He scooted closer again and rested their foreheads against each other's.

"Every relationship has its problems," Matthew said softly.

Alfred snorted and rolled his eyes. Matthew licked his lips; the line was cheesy only because it was true. And he knew if there was such a thing as 'soul-mate', Arthur and Alfred would be the first in line. If they couldn't make it through their relationship, what hope did other couples have?

"So what kind of problems you and that guy have?"

"Can you stop calling him 'that guy'?" Matthew grumbled. He thought for a moment. His relationship with Cuba was miraculously peaceful, but it didn't mean they didn't have little bickering here and there. The key, Matthew always thought, was to listen to each other and compromise.

Somehow, he just knew 'compromise' wasn't a word that was said much in Alfred's relationship.

"Well?" Alfred pressed.

"Okay, sometimes, he can be… really… overprotective," Matthew said after a moment. "He acts like I can't defend myself and it makes me feel… useless. I know he means well, but it's hard to swallow."

Alfred snickered, and Matthew knew it was because of 'hard to swallow'. He pouted with a blush and looked at his brother.

"And you and Arthur?"

"Wow," Alfred scoffed, "there are so many things… I don't even know where to start."

"Whatever it is," Matthew said, "I know you two will work it out."

"What if we don't?" Alfred lowered his eyes. "What if… that's it? It's over."

"Then you better go after him! He is the one for you, Alfred, I just know it. And let's face it… you're not going to find anyone else willing to put up with you."

"Excuse me…?"

"You're an ego-centric jerk," Matthew said without a blink.

"Yeah? Well, you're a maple-sucking wuss."

Alfred broke into a laugh, and Matthew joined in. It felt good to laugh with his brother again; they hadn't spent much time together now that they were older. Alfred poked him in the forehead. He pulled away and frowned with a curious pout.

"You know you're my best friend, right?" Alfred said.

"Yeah," Matthew said with a smiling nod. "And you're my best friend too."

They exchanged a smile as their eyes stayed locked on each other's. Matthew couldn't help but notice how blue his brother's eyes were; they always seemed to get deeper as the years went by. He also couldn't help but think that his brother was really a handsome guy; it was a mystery why he hadn't had more admirers. He flushed when he realized himself thinking about these thoughts. More so, he could sense that Alfred was having similar thoughts. Call it their fraternal intuition.

Matthew's heart raced as Alfred's face drew closer. This couldn't be happening… could it? His hand clutched the sheet as he closed his eyes. It was so wrong. He swallowed hard. Alfred's breath lingered in front of him. They simply couldn't do such a thing. The tips of their noses bumped. He fluttered his eyes in anticipation and fear.

"Matthew…" Alfred whispered.

Matthew stopped breathing. He soured his face and waited. Instead of a kiss, Matthew received a hard pinch to his cheek. He blinked, opening his mouth with confusion.

"I'm not going to kiss you," Alfred teased, "that's wrong!"

"O-oh," Matthew almost sounded disappointed. "O-oh! I knew that! Of course not!"

Alfred laughed again and rolled over in bed. He hugged his pillow and let out a loud and content sigh. Matthew turned to face the opposite side. He pursed his lips tight and gripped the bed sheet. He thought back to what happened a few seconds ago. He scoffed and smiled with amusement.

"Night, Matt."

"Good night!"

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Who else thinks brotherly fluff is the best! 8Db_

_07.28.09_

_4:03 AM_


	47. America x Canada :2:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: Too lazy to write a full story. Have another abridge story instead. But are you ready for the dark side? If not, run for it! :3_

* * *

**"Love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person. Love is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love." - Erich Fromm**

**Pairing: America x Canada**

* * *

Alfred stared up at the passing clouds as he exhaled slowly. A smile crept up his face as he took in the fresh air. The grass felt good beneath his skin, as did the gentle breeze that glided through his hair every now and then. It was one of those rare days where he could spend his time doing nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly.

He looked over at his brother lying next to him. With his arms around Kumajirou, Matthew quietly snoozed away. Matthew was the only person he knew that slept with a smile on his face; it was, he had always found, one of the most adoring qualities about his younger brother.

Kumajirou stirred and wiggled itself out of Matthew's arms. The Canadian blinked his groggy eyes open. He pushed up his glasses with his hand, rubbing his eye with his knuckle.

"Is it time to go?" he asked tiredly, tilting his head over.

"Nah," Alfred answered, "you've only been sleeping for twenty minutes or so."

"Sorry I felt asleep."

"Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."

Kumajirou wandered off to a nearby tree. Matthew shook his head and scooted closer. He rolled on his side and put an arm under his head. Alfred grinned and did the same. The brothers faced each other, each smiling as they enjoyed their lazy day together.

"You're leaving tomorrow," Alfred pointed out.

Matthew nodded; his smile disappeared for a split second before it was fully beaming again. "We've been a week already. Francis' days off are over."

Alfred let out a long sigh. He scooted closer to Matthew, his fingers plugging the blades of grass from the ground. Matthew lowered his eyes; he, too, let out a sigh. Though brothers, they were forced to live away from each other and were only able to meet up at special occasions.

"Why do you have to leave all the time?" the older one grumbled. His hand pulled out a chunk from the ground.

"We'll see each other at Arthur's birthday."

"Ugh, that's four months from now! I can't wait that long."

Alfred huffed with frustration. Matthew smiled weakly, trying his best to keep up the positive energy. Alfred looked up at his brother, his teeth biting the inside of his mouth. He softened when he saw the full smile on Matthew's face. He slithered like a worm and put himself closer. Their foreheads slightly touched. Matthew pulled his head down and kept his eyes to the grass.

"I'm going to miss you," Alfred said.

"I'll miss you too."

Alfred swallowed hard. The back of his throat went dry as his hand slowly came to a rest on Matthew's shoulder. He felt Matthew's body tensed up under his touch; but he didn't do anything to stop him. He couldn't think too clearly about the consequences of what he wanted to do. Only that, he really wanted to do it. In fact, now that he was guiding his lips toward Matthew's, he realized he had always wanted to do it.

It just took him years of courage and separation for him to realize that there was a reason why his insides twisted into tight knots every time Matthew left. It wasn't just brotherly affection he felt. It was something deeper and stronger; something so beautiful yet so dangerous.

His fingers danced up to Matthew's jaw. Gently, he lifted Matthew's head up. He pulled up on the ground and pushed Matthew down on his back. He met the violet eyes – glistening with uncertainty and anticipation. He lowered himself, eyes closing in the process. The last thing he saw was Matthew's eyelids shrouding those gorgeous eyes.

Their lips touched softly. Alfred pulled back. Quietly, he stole a gasp of air. He gazed down with half-opened eyes. Matthew's parted lips quivered; his eyes loosely closed. His hand found its way up to Matthew's cheek. He stroked it gently, as if he was afraid his touches would harm Matthew in any way. He drew his eyes close and leaned into the enticing lips again. Deeper than the first time, with more pressure.

He pulled away quickly again, cheeks flushing with confusion. Matthew opened his eyes and gazed up at him. The older one looked off to the side. His head swarmed with shame. But the strong wave of excitement and happiness washed the shame away. He couldn't deny what his heart yearned for.

"Matthew," he whispered. The name suddenly felt so heavy on his tongue. "Do you really have to… leave again?"

"If it was up to me," the younger one said, "we'd be together all the time."

Alfred breathed heavily. He savored the feel of Matthew's skin under his fingers. The Canadian smiled and leaned into his hand. Alfred shifted his weight on his elbow. Then, with much firm determination, he leaned in again and delivered another kiss. Matthew's hands reached behind his back, embracing him.

If it was up to him, they never would've been separated to begin with.

* * *

"So Francis isn't home?" Alfred asked casually as he strolled into the living room.

He didn't come over to Francis' house often since Arthur said there were too many 'inappropriate' objects lurking about. He had a small idea what his guardian was talking about, though he had never actually seen those 'inappropriate' objects.

"Nope," Matthew said. Just then, he hurried by the television and slyly hid the boxes of adult videos under some innocent-looking magazines.

Alfred peeked over his shoulder with a grin. It wasn't like he had never seen adult movies before. "When is he coming back?"

"Sunday. I think."

"So…. we have the house to ourselves for a few days?"

"Yup."

Alfred hurried over and looped his arms around Matthew's waist. The younger one let out a yelp of surprise. Alfred turned him over quickly. Pushing him against the wall, he captured Matthew's lips and pressed in for a deep and loud kiss. Those lips, he had missed them dearly.

Matthew giggled beneath him when they parted. His hands fisted on Alfred's shoulders. Alfred kept his hands on Matthew's waist, fingers misbehaving.

"I haven't kissed you in months!" Alfred complained, resting his forehead against Matthew's.

"I know," Matthew mumbled, turning his eyes away shyly with a pout.

"We gotta make it up, alright?"

He took Matthew's hand and led him to the couch. He sat Matthew down next to him, holding his hands tightly in his own. Matthew smiled brightly, eyes looking at him with longing. Alfred grinned for a moment before he leaned in to kiss the tip of Matthew's nose. The Canadian pulled back with an amused laugh, shrugging his shoulders.

Alfred wrapped an arm around Matthew's waist and drew him close. His other hand combed through the wavy orange-blonde hair. He moved forward. Their glasses bumped and scraped each other's.

"Ouch," Matthew laughed.

"Here," Alfred said, taking off his own glasses.

He reached up and took off Matthew's glasses. He folded them and put them next to his on the coffee table, where one of Francis' DVD was sitting. Matthew spotted it and quickly tried to reach for it, but Alfred stopped him. He pulled him into his arms and kissed him softly on the lips. Matthew relaxed into and returned the kiss.

They alternated between long and short kisses, deep and soft ones. Alfred kept his hand on the back of Matthew's neck, tilting the Canadian's head so he could get better access. He pressed his weight on Matthew, and before he knew it, he was pushing his brother down on the couch.

Matthew scooted up until his head was resting on the armrest comfortably. Alfred crawled on top of him, lips not taking a break from Matthew's. He wasn't bothered or embarrassed by the little noises their mouths were making. If anything, the noises were making his lower part felt strange.

He pulled away for a quick break for air. Matthew licked his lips and turned his head. Alfred grinned and took the opportunity to nuzzle into Matthew's neck. The Canadian laughed, playfully pushing his brother away. But Alfred stayed steadfast and left kisses on the soft skin.

"Why do you always smell so good?" he asked, savoring the faint hint of sweetness.

"Because, unlike you, I take a shower every day."

"Hey! I take showers too!"

"Maybe you should take more."

Alfred laughed. He kissed up Matthew's jaw and made his way back to meet Matthew's pouty lips. He left a series of quick pecks, loving Matthew's smile in between each kiss.

* * *

Their hands locked. The mattress groaned under their weight and movement. Heavy and shy pants encompassed the room.

"A-ah, A-Alfred…!"

"Am I hurting you?"

"N… No… No…"

"Uh, Matthew, ah… ha…"

"Alfred… Al-Alfred…"

Words became trapped in their throats. Only passionate moans escaped into the air. They cried out each other's name. Connected bodies. Connected hearts.

* * *

Alfred kept his arm around Matthew's shoulder. Smiling, he peeked down at Matthew sleeping with a hand on his bare chest. Their bodies were coated with perspiration, but neither had wanted to climb out of bed for a shower. He turned his head and placed a kiss on Matthew's forehead, some strands of hair slipped between his lips in the process.

A clicking at the front door caught his attention. He glanced down quickly, making sure that Matthew was still fast asleep; the sweet smile on his lips told him he was.

He stared at the gap below the door and watched shadows moved within the light. Footsteps paced and stopped on the other side. The door groaned as it slowly opened.

Alfred narrowed his eyes at the intruding hallway light. He studied the look of surprise, as well as the hint of a scowl, on Francis' face. He wasn't sure how well and how much Francis could see in the dark, or how much skin Matthew and him were exposing on the bed. But he didn't care. He was even hoping Francis would freak out at them in bed together. Then, they wouldn't have to hide their relationship anymore.

"Alfred?" Francis said, barely a whisper. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Matthew asked me to come over." He wanted to add that he didn't know Francis would be coming home a day earlier than expected.

"Ah, bon," Francis said. He lingered at the doorway, his hand gripping the gold-colored handle. "Bonne nuit, mon cheri."

Even then, Francis still lingered. Alfred sent him an unblinking stare. His hand reached up and wrapped around Matthew's shoulder, deliberately pulling his brother close to him. Matthew let out a soft moan; his head turned into Alfred's bare chest.

Alfred drew his eyes up to meet Francis. They stared at each other; the knowing look on Francis' told him he had gotten what he wanted. Francis stepped away, closing the door as he did.

Alfred scooted, rolling over so he could hold Matthew in his arms. He rested his head on top of Matthew's and laid his eyes to rest.

From now on, their lives were going to be more difficult.

* * *

"Did you think we wouldn't know?" Francis' calm voice betrayed the anger brewing in his eyes.

"I love him."

"You can't," Arthur snarled, swinging his hand in front of him with shaking anger. "He is your brother."

"I love him more for that," Alfred said, stern and unfaltering. His fingernails dug into his skin.

"Disgusting," Francis commented, fingers perched on his chin. "How could you corrupt my Matthew like that?"

Alfred wanted to laugh at the comment. If anyone was corrupting Matthew, it would damn well be Francis and his pervasion. All Alfred was providing was unconditional love and affection.

"You are to never see Matthew again," Arthur commanded, "do you understand?"

Alfred turned his eyes over to Arthur. Watching the English huffed with anger was quite a hilarious sight. He scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air casually.

"I love him, and you can't stop me," and that was all he said before he turned away and calmly showed himself out of the room.

* * *

"Francis said we're moving to Paris."

"Are you going to go with him?"

"No," the response was quick and determined. The look on Matthew's face, though, spoke hesitation and doubt.

Alfred put his arm around Matthew's shoulder and pulled him close. He perked his chin on top of Matthew's head and breathed in the scent of the golden hair. He felt Matthew tremble. Quickly, he placed a hard kiss to Matthew's cheek, hoping it would comfort his love. But he wasn't fast enough to stop the tears from flowing behind the oval glasses.

He turned over. He held Matthew's face with both hands, fingers gently caressing the soft skin, wiping away the salty tears. They had failed to convince Arthur and Francis to accept them. Alfred had expected that, and he had already had a plan in mind. It wasn't a very clear plan, but he knew it would work.

"Go pack your things," he said. "We're leaving."

Lips quivering, Matthew whispered, "I can't."

Alfred felt his heart sink. He didn't doubt that Matthew loved him, but hearing those words made his chest tight with anguish. "Why… Why not?"

"I love you, Alfred," Matthew whispered, "but I can't do this to you. I can't make you run."

"God, Matthew," Alfred groaned, frowning sadly. He drew their faces together, foreheads and noses touching. "What's the point of my life if you aren't there?"

Matthew sniffled, teeth scraping his lips. Alfred stroke Matthew's cheek and neck. The Canadian reached up and gripped his brother's extended arm. They stayed still, greedily stealing each other's comfort.

"We'll be together and nothing'll go wrong," Alfred said.

"Alfred…"

"Go pack," he instructed, kissing Matthew's ear. "We'll leave when you're ready."

Matthew sniffled and nodded with closed eyes. Alfred pinched his cheek playfully, forcing a weak smile out of the crying Canadian. He kissed him softly and gave him a tight squeeze before letting go.

Matthew stood and slipped into his room. Alfred stayed seated, fingers locked over his laps. He knew he was making the right choice. As long as he could be with Matthew, every choice would be the right one.

* * *

"Leave us alone!" Alfred shouted, his arms embracing Matthew tightly.

Matthew buried his face in his chest, fingers digging into the back of his shirt. Alfred pulled him harder and closer – bone-crushingly close, hoping that Francis and Arthur would finally understand. How would they be so heartless? How would they want to break them apart?

"This is between Matthew and me! It has nothing to do with you two!"

But their guardians simply looked on with unfaltering eyes – eyes that said no, they would never let them be together. They would never leave them alone. They would do everything they could to keep them apart, like they always had.

"God!" Alfred screamed. "Leave us alone…"

He fell to his knees, partially because of Matthew's weight. The Canadian was already sobbing loudly into his chest; his whole body shaking with disappointment. Alfred slipped his arms around Matthew's back. He rested his chin on top of Matthew's head, biting his lip hard until it blanched.

"Why are you doing this to us?" he whimpered through clenched teeth. "What's wrong with us?"

Arthur was the one who took the first step. Alfred snapped his head around, face twisting with anger. If talking wasn't going to work, then he had to make the next move. He stood up quickly, pulling Matthew off his feet. He took Matthew's hand, and without another word or look, he tugged him along.

They ran. As fast as their feet would allow them to. Hearts and lungs raced to keep their bodies moving and their brains functioning. Behind them, Arthur and Francis' shouts turned into muffled background noises.

"C'mon, Matthew," Alfred said.

"A-Alfred… What are we doing? Wh-where are we going to go?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, "but as long as we're together, we'll make it, right?"

"Yes," Matthew said. No hesitation.

"Then… just trust me."

He gripped Matthew's hand tight and ran forward with no destination in mind. But as long as they were together, they could do anything.

At least, that was what they believed. It was the only thing they could believe.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: ... I like Canada. :3_

_199 REVIEWS! You lovely people are too good to me. I'm so humbled by your support, and I hope I'm doing a good job, and that I will continue to do a good job! Thank you! ;A;_

_07.30.09_

_2:40 AM_


	48. German Brothers

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

* * *

**"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life." – Oscar Wilde**

**Pairing: Prussia and Germany Brotherly Angst**

* * *

"Where are you going?" Ludwig asked, stepping out of the kitchen.

"Out for a walk," Gilbert answered with a casual wave of his hand. He walked to the door and strapped on his boots. He clunked each boot against the hard floor after he put it on.

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know, West," Gilbert mumbled with a pouting frown. "I'm not a kid. I'll come home when I feel like it."

"Will you at least be home for dinner?" Ludwig asked.

"What are we eating?" Gilbert pulled open the door and stepped through the doorway.

"Pork," Ludwig answered, and left it at that.

"I guess…" Gilbert shrugged and thought for a moment. "Probably. Anyways, later~!"

Ludwig couldn't get in another word before Gilbert walked out of the house and closed the door behind him. He sighed and walked over to the door. He locked it even though he knew Gilbert never took his keys out with him and would always end up knocking and ringing the doorbell. It was for safety purpose; he wasn't about to have his house broken in. Not that he couldn't handle a break-in, it was just something he didn't care to deal with.

He made his way back into the kitchen and continued with preparing dinner. Since his brother was a picky eater with taste for eastern European food, Ludwig had to spend extra time preparing the dishes, using odd spices and meat, to fit them to Gilbert's taste. Sometimes, he wished he could just boil a potato and shove it in Gilbert's face. That was, if he didn't actually enjoy cooking for his brother.

He stood over the hot stove as he cooked the meat, thinking about what else needed to get done before he could call it a day. He needed to wash the dishes afterward, of course, since Gilbert hardly ever lifted a finger to help out around the house. He needed to vacuum and do the laundry as well. Just thinking about his chores was giving him a headache.

Once he was done with dinner, he set the table and brought out the food. He checked the time; Gilbert had been gone for a good forty minutes now. He briefly wondered where he could be, hoping that he wasn't in the park, getting carried away with chasing after birds again. Since Gilbert wasn't home yet, Ludwig took his chance to tidy up the kitchen; it would save him some work later on.

He came back out when he thought he heard a knock on the front door. He stole a glance at the clock as he made his way to the door. It was about time Gilbert came home for dinner.

"Welcome home," he said as he unlocked and opened the door.

He blinked with a confused frown. No one was there. He stepped out and glanced around the dark street, looking for a sign of a living person. Only the night breeze greeted him. He shook his head, thinking that he must be too tired. He closed the door and shuffled back to the kitchen.

After cleaning, Ludwig took a seat at the dining table. He locked his fingers, putting his elbows on the table, and groaned – a little angry. Gilbert should know better than to stay out so late. It had already been over an hour since he left.

Ludwig was going to be very mad if Gilbert was eating out. He didn't slave over a hot stove for nothing. He checked the food temperature and gritted his teeth. He headed back to the kitchen and came out with plates to cover the dishes. He wasn't too hungry yet and could stand to wait a little for his brother to come home.

He leaned back against his chair, going over what he needed to do tomorrow. Feliciano was coming over, which meant his house was going to be in complete chaos. Add Gilbert to the scenario, and Ludwig was going to have one gigantic headache. Not that he minded having Feliciano over, but they just didn't know how to control themselves.

And if he wasn't lucky, Lovino might make an angry appearance and that meant having to scrub tomato stain off the sofa and the walls again.

The day after that, Roderich was going to come, and that meant he was going to get bossed around and would have to serve as a mediator between his Austrian friend and his brother.

He sure did have one busy and complicated life.

He glanced at the clock and frowned with a displeased sigh. He pushed away from the table and went into his room for his phone. He flipped open his phone and realized that he had a missed call from Gilbert. He listened to it quickly, expecting some outrageous explanation of why he wasn't home yet.

"Hey, West~!" Gilbert's message said. "Listen up, okay? I'm not going to make it home tonight. So don't wait up for me." There was a long pause, and it sounded like Gilbert wanted to say something but couldn't. "Anyways… thanks for everything. You're an awesome brother."

Ludwig pulled the phone again and stared at the screen. Gilbert just thanked him – that was a rarity. He checked the time the message was left and frowned when he realized that it was made minutes after Gilbert left the house.

He decided that he needed to call Gilbert and tell him to come home. He walked back to the living room with the phone pressed to his ear. The dial tone rang and rang without end. He hung up once he reached the front door. He opened it and peeked out as he redialed the call. Except for a stray cat, there was nothing on their street.

He backed into the house and made his way to Gilbert's room. He opened the door and walked into the dark room. He flicked on the light just as the call ended. He walked toward Gilbert's bed, lowering the phone from his ear.

Gilbert's Iron Cross necklace was nested on the pillow.

Gilbert had never ever taken off his necklace before. Never. Ever.

Ludwig picked up the necklace and clasped it in his hand. He scolded himself for not realizing something was wrong earlier. He tried calling again as he nervously paced out of Gilbert's room.

The phone just rang and rang.

Ludwig stood in the living room by the table. He stared at their dinner, cooling on the table. He closed his phone and stood still. He could go out and try to find Gilbert, but who knew where his brother could be roaming about. Plus, he would risk playing a cat-and-mouse game.

He tried the front door again. Staring out into the empty street, he watched the lamppost flicker on and off in front of their house.

He retreated inside the house, closing the door behind him. He decided to leave it unlock this time around. He walked over to the table and took his seat. He put the phone on the table next to his plate, his elbows pressed hard into the wood. He stared at Gilbert's empty seat for a moment before he took his eyes to the door. He turned back to the empty seat.

He frowned, fingers locked over his mouth, the Iron Cross on his lips.

He waited.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Gilbo and Ludwig separation is like... the worst thing ever. So let's keep them together forever, ja? D:_

_So sleepy._

_07.30.09_

_3:45 AM_


	49. England and Hong Kong

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: I need a history book!_

* * *

**"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." - Robert Heinlein**

**Pairing: England and Hong Kong  
**

* * *

Arthur tilted his head, pressing his knuckles into his cheek. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the young Chinese boy kneeling in front of him. The boy was young, and Arthur admired his courage to come alone to speak with him. If the boy's elder brother were to find out, however, it would not end well for any of them.

"What is it that you want again?" Arthur asked coldly. The answer, he already knew.

"Please," the boy said in a calm and monotonous voice. His English heavily accented. "Please… leave my… brother."

"And if I were to do that, you will come with me and serve me?"

"Yes," the boy answered without the slightest doubt. He had already made up his mind.

Arthur shifted on his chair, uncrossing his legs to re-cross them again. He reached over to the round mahogany table next to him. He picked up his cup and saucer and took a long sip of his warm tea. He put the tea down, licking his lower lip as he thought. He eyed the top of the boy's head and realized that the boy hadn't looked up once since he arrived.

"Let me see your face," Arthur commanded, fingers tapping the armrest.

The boy lifted his head up - with some hesitation – and looked at Arthur. Arthur first drew his eyes to meet the dark brown ones. Oh, yes, the boy was young in age, but he was already full-grown inside, and Arthur could tell from the lack of fear in the deep orbs. There was no innocence in his eyes, only the sore fact that he had seen too much bloodshed in his young life.

Arthur decided that he liked the boy.

"You do know that if Wang Yao was to find out about our… little negotiation," Arthur said, putting his fingers over his chin.

"He cannot know," the boy responded. He kept a firm eye contact with Arthur. His mouth dragged down into what looked like a frown. But emotion seemed to be a missing ingredient in the boy's life.

"Then, what do you purpose we do?"

"You must… ask for me and I will go with you."

"I am to play the villain?" Arthur raised an amused eyebrow. He smirked, reaching for his tea again. He sipped it; it had gone cold and not to his taste. He gave the cup a twirl and watched the deep red liquid swirl. Tealeaves danced at the bottom of the cup. "And if he were to refuse…?"

"He will not," the boy said, "he know… he cannot win."

"You are willing to sacrifice yourself for your brother's sake?"

"Yes."

"You will suffer."

"I know."

"And still?"

"It is the smallest thing… I am able to do in return," the boy said, finally showing the faintest hint of emotion. It wasn't fear or sorrow, but gratitude.

Arthur scoffed, roughly putting the cup down on the table. The brotherly bond between the two sickened him. But mostly, it reminded him of a war and the person he had lost. He bit the inside of his lips, fingernails tensing into his palms. He wondered.

Was it worth breaking the brothers apart, knowing that their bond would survive mere distance? Worse yet, the distance could very well make their bond stronger.

He gazed down at the boy again, locking in with those stoic eyes. Something in his body ached. He shifted in his seat. Nausea washed over him. A bitter feeling coursed through his veins, tossed him in pain. He groaned, realizing what he was feeling.

He was jealous; so jealous that it was making him physically sick.

He sighed through his nose and stood up. He strolled over to the boy and made a circle around him, checking for any strangeness or damage. All he could find was the boy's unwavering love for his elder brother. A love so strong that Arthur wanted to feel like he was part of it. If only he could have had a similar bond with his own brothers.

"Very well, lad," he said, "tomorrow, I will ask for a treaty with you as my condition."

"T-thank you," the boy said, bowing his head.

"Don't thank me. I am doing this for myself."

The boy stood up and lingered for a moment. He bowed again, wordlessly thanked Arthur, before he turned on his heels and walked out quietly.

Arthur watched him go, knowing that tomorrow the boy would belong to him. It was something to celebrate really; he had gained another colony and won another war.

Now if only his heart didn't feel so empty.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: So... Yeah... How is it going, guys! 8D _

_08.05.09_

_1:07 AM_


	50. Greece x Austria

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

_Boyue's Note: YOU GUYS! YOU GUYS! IT'S CRACK PAIRING TIME!_

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**"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart." - Helen Keller**

**Pairing: Greece x Austria**

* * *

Roderich's eyes were closed when Heracles walked into the piano room. His fingers danced graciously over the black and white keyboard, each digit creating the perfect sound as he moved across the keys. He didn't need his eyes to play; his hands already knew the song and the music was already in his mind.

He only snapped open his eyes – with much surprise – when he felt two strong arms looping around his waist. The sudden intrusion interrupted his playing; and just when he was getting to the climax of the piece as well.

He glared over at Heracles, who was sluggishly taking a seat on the piano bench. A sheepish smile on his face, he rested his head on Roderich's shoulder.

"Can you not see that I'm occupied?" the Austrian said with a heave of his shoulders. Music time was never to be disrupted, regardless of who it was.

"I wanted to hear you play," Heracles answered, shifting his head into a comfortable position.

"Then sit over there," Roderich commanded, pointing at the nearby chair. "I can't play with you next to me. You're in the way."

"The music sounds better from here," was the Greek's lazy response.

Roderich huffed with frustration; Heracles could be so persistent when he wanted to be. He shrugged his shoulders, hoping it would bother Heracles enough that the Greek would go away. But Heracles just went with the flow, moving his head along with Roderich's shoulder. His arms tightened around Roderich's waist.

A soft sigh from both parties, and Roderich abandoned his plan to get the Greek to leave. He repositioned his fingers on the key, stealing a quick glance at the music sheet to decide where he should restart. The fourth measure sounded about right. He watched the sheet as his hands graced over the keys. But it was hard to move with another man leaning on him. His arm couldn't extend, and as a result, his left hand couldn't play as fast as his right one. For the first time in many years, Roderich actually made a mistake.

He took his hands off the keys as if the piano had suddenly caught on fire. He gawked at the music sheet, completely in shock of his failure.

"Why did you stop?" Heracles mumbled.

"I made a mistake with the trill," Roderich whispered.

"Really…? I didn't hear it."

"Of course not," Roderich hissed, snapping his head to stare at Heracles. "You know nothing of music. And it is your fault that I missed a key."

"It sounded fine to me," Heracles said after a short yawn. "Keep playing."

"You don't know what you've done…"

"You're right," Heracles said, turning his head up to look at Roderich. "I know nothing about music. But when I hear you play, I don't hear the music with my ears, I hear it with my heart. That makes it all the more beautiful. And I definitely don't hear any mistakes. I only hear your notes flowing into me, filling with me feelings I've only come to know because of you."

Roderich had to turn his head away half-way through Heracles' words. He pursed his lips, trying his best to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. His hands lingered above the keys, slightly shaking with embarrassment. Heracles chuckled softly, resting his head on Roderich's shoulder once again.

"Keep playing," he said again.

"I can't play with your head on my shoulder," Roderich grumbled though his hands were already touching the keys.

"Just play," Heracles said.

Roderich took a deep breath, hoping it would calm his beating heart. He glanced down at Heracles resting on his shoulder for a split second before he turned his eyes back to the music sheet. He began again at the same place as last time. He heard Heracles' sigh beneath the stringing of the notes. With a soft smile over his lips, Roderich closed his eyes and let his heart did the playing.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Oh man, 50 chapters! Thank you for all of your support. I really... don't know what to say except I'll keep doing my best! 8Db_

_Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! ;A;_

_08.05.09_

_1:41 AM_


	51. Sealand x Latvia :4:

_APH and its characters (c) Hidekaz Himaruya_

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**"The most eloquent silence: that of two mouths meeting in a kiss." – Unknown**

**Pairing: Sealand x Latvia**

* * *

"So the cop chases after the bad guy and the bad guy jumps over the car and he runs down the street and the cop is right behind him with his gun, shooting at him…"

Raivis nodded half-heartedly, trying his best to keep up with Peter's vigorous and confusing summary of the action movie he saw last night. He nodded here and there but it couldn't take the frown off his face.

"And the bad guy runs into the department store and he pushes down the mannequins and the cop trips over one of the mannequins and almost loses the bad guy."

As much he loved spending time with Peter, Raivis couldn't help but think that the Sealander talked too much for his own good. Most of the time, he would sit and listen to Peter talk about robots and his jerk of a brother and his mama and papa. Peter always seemed to have something new to say at their meeting, despite the fact that they were meeting up at least once a week. Sometimes, he wondered if Peter was making up his stories. Or maybe his friend just led a very interesting life.

"And so the bad guy points the gun to the poor lady's head and the cop is trying to tell him not to do it but the bad guy obviously doesn't care of it and he looks like he is ready to shoot the old grandma."

Raivis wasn't entirely what compelled him to do it. It probably had something to do with him not wanting to hear about a bad guy shooting an old lady in the head. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Peter's. As Peter was still talking at a hundred words per second, his mouth was parted at the kiss.

The silence was good. So was the kiss.

Raivis pulled away with a startled blink. Peter matched him with an equally startled blink. Raivis let out a sharp cry, throwing his hands over his mouth and scooting back. His cheeks boiled up as his heart pumped more blood than needed through his veins.

"I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't k-know, I'm sorry!"

Peter put his fingers over his lips, blinking with more of a curiosity now. Raivis pulled his hands over his face, fighting hard not to burst into tears; though his eyes were already glistening with the tears.

"Why did you kiss me…?"

"I-I don't know…! I-I'm sorry. You-you were talking and I-I wanted you to stop!"

"Wahhh! Why did you want me to stop talking?" Peter said with a pout, looking actually offended.

"B-Because… I-I don't know… You-you ta-talked too much!" Raivis screeched. He shook with fear, hiding his face behind his hands. Even though he was older, he knew Peter could kick his butt if he wanted to. Before he knew it, his cheeks and palms were moistening with nervous tears.

"Raivis...! D-don't cry!"

Raivis swallowed hard when he felt Peter prying his hands off his face. He sniffled, glancing up at Peter, hoping the boy wasn't going to beat him up. He let out a whimper as Peter's face drew in. Soon, they were meeting in a quivering kiss.

Silence again, and it was nice.

Raivis could taste tear over his lips, but the feel and taste of Peter's lips over his pushed out any clouded thought. They broke apart shortly. Peter took a loud breath of air. Raivis shook, biting into his lower lip. He forced one eye to stay open and tried to look at Peter.

"W-why did… you kiss me?" he asked, voice trembling.

"I don't know," Peter said with a grin, "you were crying and being loud and I wanted you to stop."

Peter rocked back and forth with a nervous laugh. Raivis wiped his cheeks with the heels of his hands.

"S-so… when we want e-each other to be quiet… we-we'll kiss?"

"Hmm! That sounds good!"

Raivis lowered his head. He stammered, trying to find the right words to say. Instead, he was making odd little noises that resembled a little chick crying for its mother. He looked up quickly when he felt Peter's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Raivis! You're being too loud!"

Raivis let out a soft chuckle. He closed his eyes and savored the joy of having Peter's lips over his again.

Yes, silence. Silence was excellent.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

_Boyue's Note: Because I can't have enough of this pairing! That's why! Sealand, so cute! 8D_

_08.05.09_

_2:22 AM_


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